


The Wall

by Astoria



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Cold War, F/F, Teacher-Student Relationship, czech!Therese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:51:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7312084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astoria/pseuds/Astoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1980s, NYC</p><p>Therese Belivet is an ambitious ballet dancer running away from the authoritative Soviet Union.<br/>Carol Aird was a famous ballerina whose career stopped too fast and left her cold and bitter.</p><p>They find each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teresa

More, just a little more. _En pointe_ , _en pointe_ , she just needed to hold the position long enough. She could feel the blisters that constantly pullulated her entire feet popping off. It hurt, no, no, it _burn_ _t_ really, but she was used to it. She knew this pain intimately and the blood pooling at the tip of her ballet flats was not hindering her or the flow of her movements any more. It burnt, the muscles of her calves were contracting under her white tights, she barely dared to breathe, she absolutely forwent comfort. And yet, and _yet._ She would not be anywhere else in the world. Well, if she could be in the New York Ballet, as in the troupe, she would be happiest. But doing anything else? No, dancing it is, dancing it always will be.

 

 _Pirouette_ and stop. The music stopped, the adrenaline dropped and her breathing took back its natural place and her chest rose up and fell in a quick succession. It was not any show, it was the most important audition of her damn life.

 

Her knees buckled and the pain was stronger than anything for a second. The pain would never really leave a ballerina and any ingénue who might say the opposite is simply lying. There has always been this pervasive romantic idea of ballet and Therese was not against it, no she loved the beautiful things of it: the smell of the recently polished parquet flooring, the thudding noises of the shoes, the laughter before the professor arrived, the sodality of the girls. But Therese was a realist when time demanded it and she also saw things the way they were and it was not all pink and sweet. It was so much blood your average man would faint. It was so much sweat and hate and effort and screams. It was everything.

 

The pain was all worth it in the end, for that moment, that second, that millisecond on stage where there was nothing at all but the dance.

 

The judges were in the dark, sitting at a long table, apparently debating her fate. She could not see their faces nor could she hear them clearly and that was probably the most unnerving thing she had to go through. But at the same time she did not want to hear their commentaries, she felt so scared. The whole situation was impressive. If Therese had not been intimidated by the fact that she was auditioning to be a part of the New York ballet, she had to do so in one of their actual stages because one of the simple room they used had a technical problem, someone had talked about flooding, but she had not listened very carefully. When she had came into the room, all the empty seats caught her attention and stole her breath. She swore she could feel the music and the phantoms of former stars who shone bright there.

 

She wanted to perform there. She wanted all the seats full. She wanted it more than anything.

 

One of the people in the panel moved forward, putting her face in the spotlight. Therese involuntary jerked back a bit, nearly stumbling on her aching feet. She felt like she knew this woman but for the life of her she could not say from where. She was blonde and her skin was almost translucent under the harsh spotlight. Therese idly wondered if she looked like that too under the light and moved her hands in front of her eyes to check. She realized she was shaking uncontrollably and willed herself to stop. She was not a little girl any more, she could not appear scared and easily impressionable. Well, she was all that but they surely did not need to know that. They only needed to see her dance. Had she done enough? Why were they taking so long to speak up? And that woman whispered something to one of her colleagues before coming over to the stage.

 

Therese's heart was attempting to leave her chest, she was full of contradicting emotions. The woman looked like one of the stars that occupied the best stages in the world. Her blond wavy hair was moving in rhythm to her steps and her hips were dancing. Therese had a flashback of a sort, a vision: that woman was a dancer and everybody in the street without any knowledge of dance or ballet could have said so. Everything about her screamed grace and poise and self-control, all the appanage of a true dancer.

 

Yet when she climbed the stairs of the stage she stumbled a bit, one of her legs faltering with the movement. She did as if nothing unusual had happened and kept going toward Therese. Therese whose eyes had grown a bit wide in stress but that the woman probably took for a mockery of her weakness if the severe look she cast in her direction was anything to go by. When she was on the stage mere meters away from Therese she lit up a cigarette, her long delicate fingers putting the stick between her red lips while her blue, intense, so intense, eyes traveled up and down her body.

 

“Where did you study before?” She finally said, her eyes never leaving Therese's.

 

Therese, who had been standing there feeling like a fool, feeling her sweat cool off in a very disagreeable manner for the past minutes felt absolutely inadequate. “I” She considered lying, inventing some career cum laude in a prestigious school but thought better of it because of her naive honesty. “I am an autodidact.”

 

The woman had arched an eyebrow at her accent or at what she was saying, she could not be sure but she bet on both. “Where are you from? Your name is. . .” She clapped her fingers thunderously towards the other people and one of them after reading a sheet yelled 'Teresa Belivet'.

 

Therese sighed. What had this to do with her dancing? She weighted the pros and cons of correcting them and decided that she could not lose anything more, they were already not taking her seriously. “It's Therese, not Teresa. I'm from Czechoslovakia.” The silence that followed was awkward and tense. She sighed again, feeling tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. She looked up at the spots to make it look like it was the blinding light hurting her eyes and not the fact they were probably wondering why a commie was here and if she was dangerous. Could they forget so easily talented people like Galina Ulanova, Léonide Massine or Anna Pavlova, under false ideas and prejudices?

 

“Interesting.” The woman said after another beat of silence. Therese's head whirled away from the light to look at the woman; the light she had stared at made little halos appear in her visual field and around the woman's face. “Therese.” She repeated with something in her voice that troubled Therese. Her heart had picked up its pace a bit, ridiculously, at the pronunciation of her name from that mouth that seemed so distinguished and she was also weirdly fixated on the fact that she had not made any further comment on her origins. “Now that you've said that I understand. We talked of your obvious passion but also your lack of techniques. For example your posture was catastrophic when you did that _grand jeté_ , and yet your pointes were remarkable. And you've got a great energy, you did very well on a stage that big.” She took a hesitant step toward Therese, as if she did not know what to do but she wanted to be closer for some reason, to assess her. She ended up blowing some smoke near her. “I don't know. I think we need to talk more.” She descended the stage to speak to the others.

 

The discussion was heated, Therese guessed because of the rapid echoes of their voices. She still could not see them, nor understand what they were saying. The woman's deep voice was the only thing Therese could focus on, like a lost ship and a lighthouse. Except she did not feel grand and big and imposing like a ship, she felt small on this huge stage, she felt inadequate like always, she felt like a scared kid. Every passing minutes felt like another hour and she was not even surprised or shocked when the woman finally told her she should not expect any call from them.

 

The worse part was the hope the woman had made her feel. Saying her name like it was a wonder, something refreshing among all the other Teresas, something new, something she needed, something the troupe needed. Therese wanted more than anything to blame Stalin, Brezhnev or Husák for her failure but she knew that it was exactly that, her own failure. She nodded fast and turned around without looking back at them, or at the stage, or at the seats. She even managed a wan smile to the doorwoman. She walked a bit in the busy and grey New York City streets, realizing a bit late she was still wearing her ballet shoes, her leotard and her tights. But she could not make herself go back inside. She could not move, she looked ahead without seeing.

 

Her dream had been violently ripped from her chest with complete disregard. The poor, stupid, hazardous Stalin lover. Her failure, yes her own failure, but her bitterness could not help but hatch onto the fact that it had without a doubt influenced them. Her slight accent she tried everyday to curb down. Her history she forgot easily to be here. Her name she accepted to butcher for them. For them. And yet, nothing.

 

Her knees finally broke down and she cried for the first time in years.


	2. Burgers with Marx

“Stop being over-dramatic my dear.” Carol said, without realizing how mean it sounded, or realizing too late. But it was that: too late.

 

The girl, Therese looked absolutely wrecked and if Carol listened to herself she would have taken her into her arms. This poor girl, like a frail bird thrown out of its nest. But Carol was not like that, not any more. She was tough, she was a tough woman and she wanted everybody to regard her as such. Therese did not say anything but she stood up. Carol gave her the bag she had forgotten in the hallway, Therese took it and nodded weakly as if to say thank you.

 

“Don't lose your courage. Work harder and come back to us in a few years.” Carol was not used to being so indulgent of people around her, especially young ballerinas who already saw themselves touring worldwide. But the words were empty, a topos people said. Even though she had seen the talent the girl had, the way she occupied her space and the force exuding out of her. Even though all of that was true she knew her words rang hollow.

 

Therese's face reddened. Her brows furrowed angrily and she opened and closed her mouth a few times, as if debating what she wanted to say. “I am already too old, it is over. And even if I were not, well, I am leaving the United States.”

 

“Why?”

 

Therese scoffed unkindly. “Something about my country being occupied by an unstoppable force that is at war with another unstoppable force. The Soviet Union does not really allow fraternizing, you know.”

 

That girl was so intriguing, Carol was in awe. So young and so strong, she wished she had been the same at the same age. “How are you here then?”

 

“Are you the god damn KGB?” She finally exploded and Carol chuckled a bit, her accent and her spirit making her captivating. Her spirit, yes, she was wild spirited. “All you do is ask and ask and ask! You don't even want me, stop pretending to have any interest.” She removed fiercely her ballet flats. Carol saw the pitiful state of her feet, the real proof of the work of a dancer: Carol's own feet did not even have the shape feet ought to have.

 

“Listen, I don't know how you people do in Czechoslovakia but in New York one does not walk in the streets barefoot, that is just unsanitary. Put on some shoes and come. Are you hungry? I know I am and it's my lunch hour. An American burger should introduce you to our wonderful culture of capitalism.” Carol started to walk without checking if she was following her. She knew her power, she knew her influence, Therese would follow. Except no, she did not. Carol realized a few meters away and turned back. “Oh please do not make that face. I've lived through the end of the 1960s I read Marx like everyone else I think we will have things to talk about.” That made Therese smile, a crooked, lopsided, timid smile. “Come on.”

 

They walked in silence toward a café Carol liked, that was close to the theater, made decent food, and it was where Abby worked. People looked at them in the street, physically turning around to look at them. Well to look at Therese who had put on sneakers but did not change out of her dance clothes. Carol did not care if Therese didn't. “You read Marx? I can't picture that I have to be honest.”

 

“You think you have the monopole of communism and socialist ideas?” Carol joked while they sat down in a booth.

 

Therese looked at her from under her long dark lashes stuck together with tears, still smiling with playfulness. She looked like a proper doll. “That feels good.” At Carol's confused expression she elaborated. “Joking about communism? Not avoiding the elephant in the room. That feels good.”

 

“No, let's not avoid it, on the contrary!” Carol leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table between them and exaggerated her stage whisper. “Is is true the Russians eat babies?”

 

Now Therese was laughing heartily, attracting the attention of other patrons but Carol did not care and could not take her eyes away from her and her long exposed throat. “Only in winter when food is rare, of course.”

 

“Of course, that is good to know.”

 

“It is. Now about Americans...” She put her hand on her chin in thought. “Is it true that business is your religion and money is your God?” She recited as is it was something she had learnt.

 

That startled a deep laugh out of a surprised Carol. “Ok, we were joking around but that was too close to the truth for comfort. Yes, Americans are like that.”

 

“It is like that song 'Money makes the world go round'.” She hummed the air of the song absently. “Don't worry, the communist governments usually do not care about the people, believe me, they don't.” Therese's eyes had a faraway look in them and Carol wanted to steer her away from those bad thoughts.

 

“Now we know people in power are pigs, but individually people are fine I suppose. I forgot to introduce myself, I'm Carol.”

 

“You already know I'm Therese.”

 

“I do.” They looked at each other for a long moment. Carol was looking at the dimples appearing and disappearing on Therese's cheeks. She wanted to see them everyday, touch them, feel the delicate dent of skin with her fingers. The moment was broken when the waitress came over to take their orders. Therese wanted to try the cheeseburger that seemed to be a 'plug for arteries' according to her and Carol took her usual salad.

 

“A salad? Now I know for sure you are a dancer.”

 

“Did you ever doubt it?” Carol quipped back.

 

Therese lowered her head and blushed a bit. “I guessed. It shows.”

 

“Really? What was that you said earlier? You're too old to be a dancer? God what should I say then?”

 

“It's not the same thing, you have nothing to learn, you are already done. Perfect.”

 

Carol was left speechless by her directness and looked at her while she blushed even more. She was going to say something, anything to further that _moment_ when the waitress came back.

 

Well, not their original waitress, but another one, none other than Abby. “Oh my god! Carol Aird? Could I have your autograph? I'm a big fan!” Abby's excited voice was squeaky and left Carol more than perplexed. She did not make any move but she kept staring at her best friend with her mouth slightly open.

 

“I. . . suppose, yes.” She grabbed a napkin on the table and signed it. “There you go.”

 

“Thank you!” She exclaimed before winking and going in the direction of the kitchen.

 

Therese was looking at her curiously, trying to understand who was in front of her and suddenly Carol understood what Abby had done: helping her impress Therese with the idea of celebrity. How embarrassing! And rather untrue: no one had asked her to sign anything for about ten years. But she appreciated the feeling and she loved her best friend so much and would not change her for anything in the world.

 

“I'm sorry, I know the Russian and Czech dancers but I have a thin knowledge of the others.”

 

“Oh please Therese. I am not a big star.”

 

“Enough to be permanently in the New York ballet's jury.”

 

“Enough for that, yes.” The situation had escaped Carol. She wanted to keep talking, she wanted Therese to ask her things but a gap had opened up between them. They ate in relative silence, Therese commenting on this new cuisine, sauce and cheese dripping on her fingers. “You should be happy it is not a McDonald's hamburger.”

 

“McDonald?”

 

“Oh no dear you do not have that? How lucky!”

 

They laughed and smiled but the gap was still there, like a wall between them. Therese, always brave, she knew it already, she had understood that much when she had heard her accent and seen the light in her eyes. “Why won't you take me?” She asked in a plaintive almost absent voice.

 

Carol ran a hand over her hair and wondered what she was doing here. Why had she invited this girl? This was absolutely bad and could only end up in a heart break. For both of them. “We thought you were not good enough.” Blunt and true words were her specialty whether she liked it or not. Once again she could not take them back, they had been fired and she could see the consequences of them on Therese's face. Like someone had punched her, but at the same time her posture remained stiff and her head was high: brave, brave girl.

 

“I see.” She stood up on wobbly knees. “Well, thank you for this discovery.” She pointed weakly to the food. She had not even finished eating. “I think I'll go now, I. . . need to go.”

 

“Wait! Where will you go?”

 

“Why do you care?”

 

“Please Therese.” She had no right to demand and yet she did.

 

“Back to Czechoslovakia. That was my only chance to stay here, but” She broke off and sighed deeply, her eyes still a bit red, her cheeks still stained with tears. “I am not good enough so I have to leave.”

 

“Did your parents agree to you coming here? And possibly move in a new country?” Therese had been right, all she did was ask and ask and take without giving anything in return.

 

Therese thought the same according to the expression on her face. “My parents. . .Ever heard of the Prague Spring?”

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Time was running out, Therese was running away, Carol could feel her slipping through her fingers. “Listen I don't propose that to every girl I meet but I teach an advanced, very advanced class. If you joined us, with what I've seen from you, in a few months you could try again for the ballet.”

 

Therese sat back down heavily without seeming to have it done on purpose. “Thank you.”

 

Carol was surprised at what she had just said. That was not in her habits. At all. This class was extremely expensive and only the best girls of the country had a chance of entering it. But she knew Therese could do it, she knew she could get better.“Before thanking me you must prove your dancing chops. It won't be easy, I certainly won't be nice. There will be a huge competition for everything. Get ready, Therese. I would hate to say good bye to you too soon.”

 


	3. Blood pact

Therese had been so nervous at the idea of coming back into that theater she had had to come the day before in a recon mission. Seeing it all big and imposing put her back as if no time had passed at all, in the middle of that stage, getting looked down by those professionals.

 

But there she was, she was going to take classes from that woman who looked like dance personified. It was okay. She could do it. Her dream could be revived. Besides her anxiety she felt giddy with joy and hope. It was a chance, wasn't it? They had told her no, but she still had that chance, if she worked hard, harder than she had ever worked if that was even possible. For the first time she would be able to attend a real class. As she had explained to them, no to her, the others had not even deigned talk to her directly, as she had explained to her she had never been in a real class. She was an autodidact. Well, not entirely true. But never a high level class: no, it was a class after school where two of the oldest women Therese had ever seen treated dance like a hobby, like something to have fun with. Nothing serious, not like Therese saw dance.

 

And she remembered with affection, with fondness but also with a painful twinge of her heart Danny. That young, reckless boy. Her neighbor, he had been her neighbor when they were kids and after her parents had died they had stayed in contact. He was so rich, so goddamn filthy rich that Therese wondered in her naive childlike mind how they could combine this excess of wealth and the fact that they were good communists with high ranking jobs in the government. Now she knew, both things usually went together, money and hypocrisy. But despite that they got along fine. Well, Danny was obnoxious and arrogant but eventually harmless. He was the one who got the expensive classes with the best Russian dancers. He was the one who taught a few things to Therese, technical points she had trouble with. She learned through tapes usually, but it was not the same. Even now it still hurt irrationally: no one had wanted her to dance, she had never been good enough for the schools as a dirt poor orphan, they had never deemed her worthy of a chance. Especially since her parents were bad communists. They were pariah and Therese with them.

 

This did not prevent her from working hard and harder than Danny ever considered doing. It was a hobby for him, nothing serious, something a rich young boy could throw away once he was tired with it. And he grew tired of it very fast. Therese caught herself, she wasn't fair to him. He had grown tired of his life, he had wanted to turn things around. At least she hoped he had the best intentions, pure ones. But deep down she kind of knew it was his rebellious phase against his parents that set everything in motion. Long story short Therese would never see him again and not only because she was in another country. No, no one would ever see him again. She shivered against the cold wind and closed her eyes, lost in reminiscence.

 

She shook her head. No time to dwell. She was going forward. She was still in front of the high and mighty facade when she caught the smile of the doorwoman. The woman she had seen a few days before. They had smiled at each other even then. Therese smiled back. A bit of goodness wouldn't hurt her right now. That being said she startled a bit when the woman moved and started walking toward Therese.

 

“Hello. You came here a few days ago didn't you?” The woman tilted her head, letting her long hair swing.

 

Therese nodded, her eyes like a deer in the headlights. What had she done to attract the woman over?

 

“Cool. You're a dancer?” She had a twang, a slight accent in her voice. Her 'r' were too rough but even Therese could detect her New Yorker accent, precisely her Brooklyn accent.

 

“Um yes.”

 

“I work at the door, obviously.” She lifted one of the sleeves of her black bomber jacket. “Don't worry, my guns will protect you.”

 

Therese did not understand what was happening. “I've seen enough guns in my life, no thank you.”

 

The woman snorted in amusement.“What? Oh no, not a literal gun, I am not a fucking piggy.”

 

Therese was confused and starting to worry, what was happening? “A piggy?”

 

“A fucking cop. A policeman. Or policewoman, I ain't discriminating my hate.” She smiled like a little girl even though her arms were strong, her long red hair was shaved on one side and under, her clothes were dark and intimidating. And yet she had freckles on her nose, she was smiling and chewing gum like a kid. “Ok I get it you don't understand slang and you've got an accent, you aren't American. Well good for you! That's one less flaw to have. So I guess you just arrived here?” Therese nodded. “Follow me, I'll give you a free tour. Come on! It's my break and if I see another rich person looking me down I'll fucking scream. Oh who am I kidding, scaring those spineless fucks is why I wake up every morning. Say, you're awfully quiet.”

 

They had started to walk in the streets, Therese swept away by this tornado. “You speak enough for two. And about half of your words are 'fuck'”.

 

The woman laughed hard and snorted inelegantly but she did not care and laughed even more. Therese joined happily. “You got me all figured out! I can't say the same, you barely talk.”

 

“I am mysterious.” She joked.

 

“I see that. I like mysterious girls.” She winked and Therese blushed. What was happening, she repeated in her head for the umpteenth time.

 

In the end the woman made her see New York City. Therese had not been able to see much of the city before but now it exploded in her eyes, a real slap. She did not know a town could be like this, so gray with its concrete so much concrete everywhere but vivid with its yellow cabs and its neon signs, so blurry in its fast pace and sharp with its skyscrapers. Those skyscrapers. Big, immense, too much, decadence of arrogance. But Therese could not judge, it was beautiful. And so different from her country. America was young and eager and Therese touched a grainy wall with huge graffiti all over. The roughcast scratched her finger and a bit of blood was drawn on the wall, on the graffiti, brilliantly red and Therese could have cried at this moment. She had left a bit of herself in America, America had a bit of her and she had a bit of America in her: they had made a pact of blood.

 

Everything was so different from Europe and Czechoslovakia. Europe was old, a bit sick but pretending it was as strong as before. She could only talk about her country because she knew it well and Czechoslovakia was orange, blue and yellow. The roof tiles in the blue sky, the sun setting on its cobbled streets, a nice postcard. She loved her country, she loved her language, she loved her culture, well the culture that had not been butchered by the government. And that was the whole problem: the government.

 

Nothing she could do about it now. Moving forward, she was going forward.

 

She sucked her bleeding finger and looked at the woman who was already looking at her with a weird expression. “So I saw you and Mrs Aird...” The woman started, startling Therese out of her contemplation.

 

She tried to remember who she had talked to in the past days but could only remember _her_.“Carol?”

 

The woman chuckled. “First name basis are we? I see.” Her remark sent Therese's mind in turmoil: as a Czech it was customary to call someone by their first names only after that person had become a friend. And yet it did not feel weird when she had called Carol, well Carol. Maybe she was indeed becoming American. When she came back to the present the woman seemed to debate something in her head, a lonely fight, she shook her head several times and sighed just as much. Her eyes were a warm brown and at this moment they both looked happy, relieved and like they were looking at defeat right in the face. “I've got no chance, have I?”

 

Therese raised her eyebrows. “At what?”

 

“I can't tell if you are really that clueless or you're rejecting me nicely.”

 

She still didn't know what to say. She thought she understood what was happening now but she still was not sure. “I...”

 

She tied up her hair in a high ponytail, showing off all the shaved parts. Therese did not think she had ever met a punk before today. “No worries, no worries. Still would like to have that tour?”

 

The atmosphere was awkward where it had been comfortable and Therese wanted out.“Won't you be late for work?”

 

“I lied earlier, my shift's over but I didn't wanna pressure you.” She admitted while scuffing her platform shoes on the cold pavement.

 

The girl was funny, direct and Therese could see them becoming friends. That was why she insisted. “You mean we have all day?”

 

She squinted her eyes but her grin was making an appearance.“I guess.”

 

Therese grinned back. “Let's go then.”

 

She did not remember the last time she had that much fun. Her new friend was hilarious and daring and Therese forgot all about her anxiety. They ate dubious hot dogs while watching two men fight outside a club. They ran as soon as police came and took the subway: it was dirty and scary and smelly and felt like a metal covered in graffiti cage but she loved it, even when her ears clogged and she had to make insane faces and movements with her mouth to pop them. They saw a man preaching for God, yelling about Hell and Therese could not help but laugh a bit, communists were not religious. She never understood religion and probably never will. Yet she had stopped without thinking and the man was now yelling his atrocities in her face. She could only look at him and his thin lips and his yellow teeth repeating over and over the word “sinner”. She managed to break the spell she was under when she saw a man painting a landscape and the preacher did not exist anymore. She looked at the painting a long moment, without really seeing it, just following the brush on the canvas in a sort of hypnotizing cadence.

 

She forgot about the whole event when her new friend bought her an ice cream, even with the wind she appreciated it and smiled again at the street she was observing. Then, she did not know what took over her head but she wanted to dance and she saw the opportunity when she saw a man with an instrument. She never thought she would ever dance in the street with a street musician but she did, she took off her shoes under the clapping and cheering of her friend and a few curious passersby and danced, not like for her audition, no better, freer. It was probably the most beautiful dance she ever did. The rhythm of the djembe taking place, inhabiting, possessing a nest in her ribcage. Her feet had moved without her head, her hands had flown above her. She looked at the sky, not blue, a bit white, mostly gray in adequacy with the buildings. She belonged, everything had its place. Even two different things like this fierce drum and classical dance could mix.

 

She just hoped Carol had been here to see that, to see her, then it would have been perfect. For a reason she could not comprehend. Well, maybe if she had seen what she could do when she was not stressed and anxious and literally dizzy with pressure, she would have said yes.

 

When night fell and they were breathless with laughter and exhaustion they parted ways with a kiss on each cheek. Therese was already far away in the dark busy streets when she realized they had not even exchanged their first names.

 

 


	4. Sacrificial lamb

Therese thought she knew how a pinned butterfly felt. In a glass case, for everyone to see, her limbs pinned, unable to move away. Curious stares, violent ones, mostly disdainful ones. All the girls had stopped talking when she had entered the room, a bit late and completely flushed. Carol had smiled and had introduced her.

 

“Girls, this is a new student Therese Belivet.” Carol's smile illuminated the room, Therese thought. “I know, I know it's a bit late in the year but because of exceptional circumstances regarding Therese's background no Brenda I see you, don't start any gossip because of that and her talent I've included her in this class.”

 

Therese waved awkwardly at the class. “Hello.” She muttered uselessly. They did not care and honestly the fastest her shiny novelty would wear off the better she would feel, away from the burning spotlight.

 

The looks had grown confused and angry. She could hear the barely whispered remarks: “who's that girl?”, “it's not the beginning of the year, what's she doing here?”, “teacher's pet.” It was going to be as difficult as Carol had told her, but not even for the right reasons. After the painful introduction Carol had asked Therese to do a little demonstration in front of everyone, as it was a tradition of sorts.

 

She felt like throwing up with nerves but she only nodded and went to the cassette player. “Do you have any Stravinsky?” She asked while perusing the music they had.

 

“Of course. Anything in particular?” Carol came closer.

 

Therese thought about it. She had said Stravinsky as a gut reaction, under pressure, always Stravinsky. Well, more particularly _Le Sacre du Printemps. “The Rite of Spring_?”

 

Carol looked at her intensely as if she could read her emotions and it unnerved Therese very much. She did not even know her own feelings, she did not need those blue eyes on her. “Good choice.” She commented with a smile. It seemed Carol was smiling a lot, but always with prudence, always with grace. There was a controlled motion in the way she expressed her emotions and it pained Therese as much as she admired it. To be in control, to be able to forget the self to become the dance, the character, the music, the ballet. She was sure Carol was a vision on stage. She was already one.

 

_Весна священная, The Rite of Spring_. She was mad, that was a whole ballet, and she had to perform a solo. Why had she said that? The moment she asked herself that question she understood. She was the sacrifice, the chosen one that was to be killed on an altar to allow spring to come. The girls and their acrid judgment were the women with the dirtied white dresses: their soul becoming more and more stained, at the same time as they became one with earth. They circled the sacrifice, looking at her, waiting for her to fall, to die, for them to be able to live. That situation was exactly like the one Therese was in now.

 

She put on the tape and fast forwarded it almost to the end when the condemned girl was dancing to her death. She remembered being sixteen and buying the video cassette for a few Czechoslovak koruna from Ludvík of the choreography by Pina Bausch. She had cried so much in front of the grainy TV in the common room of her boarding school. It was so good, and she had bought many cassettes from Ludvík, who had all of these different videos fallen from the back of a truck he sold very cheap in the street behind the real cinema, she had bought many ballets from him but never like this, never like that. What she had felt was indescribable: she had memorized the dance and had started to dance it the very day she had watched it in her small room, trying out every role but feeling an intimate connection with the lamb to be sacrificed.

 

She stopped the tape at the right moment, when there was a bit of calm, a quiet eerie moment in this pagan primal rhythms. She put herself in position and closed her eyes. She felt all the eyes on her, like daggers pushing her toward the end. The dramatic music started and she played her part, throwing herself up and down, resigned but still fighting for that sliver of life. Knowing it was the end and going there with her fists up. She clawed at her chest in a desperate move, her limbs flying in a measured anarchy, her pointes putting her up only to bring her down in the next second, her stomach feeling the rhythms of the music and of her angered fists. She was not to die like this! She was to live, to live through the spring!

 

The music turned ominous and she turned around, twirled and looked at the faces surrounding her as though asking for help, redemption and forgiveness. But they were a barrier, not letting anything go, not letting her go. She became haggard trying for anything to escape, to get out of here. The music was ceaseless, not giving her any respite. She was on the floor, digging for her survival and jumping high in the air to fly away. A prey ready to be eaten. Much like in _The Red Shoes_ Therese was possessed, her feet moving before she thought about it, her whole body and mind occupied by something that was not her and at the same time completely a part of her.

 

She extended her arms again and again and again, the cadence almost too much to bear, she repeated the same exalted moves over and over again, losing more of her breath every time, losing her energy a bit more every time, losing her life at the same time. Her arms became huge, beyond her body, the movements were too big for her and she felt the momentum stabbing her in the stomach again and again and again. She was doing the pagan cult, reciting with her body the spell, the formula. She could feel it in her bones, she could feel everything.

 

Finally, the ritual took an end with her limp body laying on the floor. The sacrifice was cruel and hard and tough but it had to be made, for how could spring come if nothing was given to the gods? And the price of spring, of joy, of renewal and rebirth was costly. She understood that now, better than before, her expiatory fictitious act put into the light her own life: her old skin had to be shed to be able to live again. A painful death but a divine renaissance. Her hand touched the floor and for a moment she had forgotten it was a wooden floor and not earth and grass and dirt. She slowly stood up and put her hair back to normal, as it was an absolute mess of knots and had become so with her hands flying everywhere.

 

Clapping started slow but was eventually thunderous. Therese saw that it was Carol who had started it. Carol was not smiling, not anymore. She was looking at her, once again with the intensity of a dying star, her eyes narrowed in thoughts. Had she not thought Therese was capable of better than she had shown for her audition? Of course she could. Looking back, even back from a few days, she realized her audition had been a complete mess. She had not thought about the music or the dance or the story but herself. The time where she had danced in the street and now… that was her.

 

The girls were clearly reluctant to clap but their faces were a bit impressed so Therese counted that as a victory, at the very least for her ego. “Wonderful! I… Therese that was wonderful.” Carol exclaimed and squeezed her shoulder. Her long manicured fingers were light and yet grounding on her. Her heated skin felt all the lines of her hand, and the nails touching her neck sent electricity down her whole body. Therese wondered if Carol could her feel her erratic heart beats in the tips of her fingers.

 

 

After that the class went on without Therese being in the spotlight and she liked it that way. That was a bit much for a first day. But something else irked her: after that _wonderful_ dance Therese could not follow the rest of the class. She was out of breath and felt so tired, like she had danced for hours: she had just been a bit too intense in the story she wanted to convey and the efforts she gave. She was just so tired. And to make things worse, she did not know the choreography they were doing. After the usual warm up exercises and the basic steps, Carol had started this choreography they all knew and had been working on for weeks. Therese could not follow as much as she tried and none of the girls were kind enough to help her. She was relayed at the back of the room, far from the mirrors, far from Carol. She became frustrated and her moves only suffered more from it. She was sweating bullets while the other girls were contained and she was so angry with herself she had to stop tears from coming down. She hated that she could cry so easily, she hated it so much.

 

At the end of the class Therese just hoped to escape as fast as possible to the shower and then to her job finding. But Carol stopped her and waited before all the girls left for the locker room. “I'm going to sound like an old lady and repeat myself but that dance you did… Wonderful.”

 

She blushed at the proximity, at the compliment. “Thank you. But that was all Pina Bausch.”

 

“I knew I recognized that choreography. But no you are wrong, the choreographer is maybe the spine of the ballet, but what you showed there…” Her hands moved in the air with no objective. As though she had wanted to put her hands on Therese, like earlier, but couldn't bring herself to. “That was all your soul. We cannot teach that. You have it.” She licked her lips. “Why didn't you do that at your audition? What you did was stiff and stilted, not really natural. Now I can tell you.”

 

Even if it was said to help her, she felt ashamed at having shot her chance. “I realize that now. But I did try my best. I guess nerves got the best of me.”

 

“Well, controlling your nerves is a very important part of being a ballet dancer. And you've got soul, so much, but your technique is lacking. What you did was good, not perfect. Keep working.”

 

It sounded like a promise, like Carol was saying 'I'll keep working with you.' “I will.” Therese answered in the same promising tone.

 

“Alright. I also wanted to talk to you about your lag compared to the other girls with what we are doing currently. Don't worry I understand completely. If you wish tonight I could give you a...” She hesitated and put two fingers in a loose curl. “Private lesson?”

 

Therese startled a bit. “I'm grateful?” She knew it sounded like a question. “No really, I am.” She tried again. “But the cost of the class is already exorbitant for me, I can't even imagine the charge of a private lesson with someone like you. I mean really talented and famous and...”

 

“Don't you understand, Therese? It would be free of course. I would love to coach you. What do you say?” Her lips were so full and shiny. During their conversation Therese had seen her bit her lips several times just before letting her pink tongue peek out to wet them and soothe them. It seemed like it was a nervous habit and Therese was surprised that this superstar of a woman could be nervous at all but even more surprising that she was nervous in front of Therese.

 

“I say yes.”


	5. Carrie

The girls in the locker rooms stopped talking when Therese entered, a bit late, because of her talk with Carol. She hated being the center of attention for the wrong reasons: when she had danced she had wanted all the eyes on her but now, now it felt wrong. She did not understand what was so special about her that the other girls felt threatened by her very existence.

 

She went to change quietly and quickly, forgetting about any shower, she did not want to stay here too long. After a time things went back to normal and the girls spoke again. Therese overheard something about a party and she must have looked too much because one of the girls apostrophized her. “You interested or what?”

 

Therese thought her name was Florence, she had memorized it because of how many times Carol had said it to right her posture. “In what?”

 

“Like you weren't listening.” Therese shrugged. Florence sighed in exasperation. “Ok. We are having a pre-Halloween party and we were discussing costume choices.”

 

“Pre-Halloween?” Therese asked. She had watched American films so she remembered something as iconic as Halloween and Thanksgiving but she had never heard of pre-Halloween. “But we are still in September.”

 

“Duh. Oh my god that's right you aren't American! Well you see Halloween is a tradition but so is pre-Halloween, a very important one at that! And of course it's before, so in September.”

 

It made sense, Americans loved pretexts to party. “Sounds fun.” She said conversationally. It didn't really but the girls were smiling and she felt included.

 

“It does! Wanna come?”

 

She really had not expected an invitation with the way it had started. “I suppose.”

 

“Great! You need a costume and I'll phone you the address of the club.”

 

Therese blushed in shame. “I don't have a phone. Not yet.”

 

“Oh you poor thing.” Florence's face was contorted in pity, and Therese blushed even harder. “Well Brenda do you have it now? Yeah ok write it down for Therese.”

 

Therese took the slip of paper. “Thank you.”

 

“Of course.” Brenda answered with a big smile, she looked like a shark.

 

“By the way, when is it?”

 

“You can arrive at 9, but honestly it will start at 10.”

 

Carol's lesson was supposed to start at ten thirty. Therese hesitated and looked back toward the door of the class where Carol was. Probably still there, stretching or dancing. Therese felt torn: well maybe it she stayed a bit she could make it in time back to the theater. She would show up and have fun with the girls, who weren't as horrible as she had thought, and then she would go. Yes, she could do that.

 

 

Therese had no costume and no money to get one. She didn't want to stick out like a sore thumb so she put on gray clothes and she decided to draw a nose and whiskers on her face with her mascara brush. Then she took a piece of cardboard off the street and cut out two ears and a tail. She was all in all quite proud of herself because she had not spent any dollars on it and she looked rather cute. She also took her bag with her dancing stuff and took the subway to go there.

 

She saw the girls huddled near the club where there was a long line waiting. Therese had never been in a club and she wondered if she would like it, but she was open to the idea of music and dancing and friends. “Hello!” She waved when she was close enough. How different from that morning.

 

“What is that?”

 

“What is what? Oh my costume?” Therese suddenly realized none of the girls were wearing any costumes. “I thought we had to wear one?”

 

“Of course. We just didn't want to walk the streets covered in fake blood” She agitated a bottle of red, Therese guessed it was the fake blood in question. “that would have been weird. But… What are you?”

 

“Oh, I am a rat of the opera!” She announced proudly while touching her fake ears that were still holding on well. “You know, like we call the French ballet dancers, the little rats of the opera.”

 

The girls didn't seem impressed and Therese suddenly felt stupid and childish. These girls were beautiful, they wore compensated heels and bright lipsticks. Therese was dressing up as a rat and thought it was cute. “Oh.” Florence's eyebrows were high in disdain.

 

“You don't like it? I...”

 

“It's ok, we actually have one for you.”

 

“You do?” She couldn't believe they had thought about her enough to get her one.

 

“Yes! Let's go in and let's go change in the restroom.”

 

They walked and went before all the people in the line. The usher just smiled and talked with a few girls, he knew them, and they went in. Therese had never felt so important and she had to look back on the waiting people and smile a bit shyly, as if she was apologizing. But she loved it.

The music was loud and throbbing, almost alive in her chest. It was definitely different from classical music and what she used to listen. Yet she didn't hate it. It was nice to see those pulsing sweaty bodies throw themselves to the rhythm, the heat in the club almost palpable. The only complaint Therese could have was the excess of synthesizer in the songs.

 

They went into the restroom and Therese saw people sniffing white powder without hiding. The abundance of it and the ease in which people took it unnerved Therese. For the first time in the night she reconsidered her choice to come and she wanted to leave. But she thought of the girls and all the classes they would have together and maybe after they would be in the same troupe. She let herself be handled: they removed the makeup and asked her to take off her clothes. Therese went into one of the stalls and asked the new clothes she should wear. A hand came up in the space under the stall door but instead of giving her something it grabbed blindly for the clothes she had just taken off.

 

“Girls? What Can you give me my clothes, please? Come on girls it's not funny.” Her voice became more and more breathless, a huge lump sitting on her chest.

 

“That'll teach you some humility.” She heard and she understood the situation she was in instantly. Without thinking she opened the door to catch the girls leaving, but they weren't leaving at all. They had been waiting for Therese to open the door to throw fake blood all over her. There was so much of it, she had to crouch because some of it had reached one of her eyes. By the time her eye had stopped crying the girls were long gone and she was surrounded by the other party goers. They were doing coke but still had the opportunity to gawk at her, in her underwear and covered in blood, well fake blood, small consolations and all that.

 

She felt miserable and humiliated and overexposed and she wanted to cry so badly, _kurva, kurva, kurva_! She had believed them like a naive little fool. She ran like hell, one eye still red and barely seeing, almost naked in front of the most crowded place she had ever been in, covered in sticky paint. She wanted to hide and cry forever. But now she ran and ran and stopped behind the club. She had seen her old backpack in a trashcan. She retrieved it, thankfully the girls only had emptied the contents, her ballet shoes and her dance clothes, and had not done anything to them. Small consolations and all that.

 

She thought about Carol who was going to see her in this pathetic state. She didn't want her to see her like that, she wanted Carol to keep a nice image of Therese, of a talented dancer, of a wonderful soul. God, she hated them all, she hated them! She put on her dance clothes, absolutely inappropriate for the street and moreover at night but she did not have any choice. She walked the rest of the way, as fast as she could, trying to ignore everyone's stares. In New York nobody ever slept, Therese discovered.

 

When she arrived her naked feet were bleeding and she went directly to the showers. Her legs were too weak and she sat down heavily on the cold tile. She didn't cry, she just watched the flow of red going down the drain. She must have done that for a long time because she heard footsteps coming her way.

 

“Therese is that you?”

 

It was Carol. “Yes.” She croaked out before standing up and shaking her head of the events that had happened tonight.

 

“You are late. Do you realize I don't give away half the chances I gave you. And you don't take it seriously, I mean” Her harsh tone and her hard words stopped abruptly. “Are you hurt?” She asked urgently and Therese figured she had found her clothes where the fake blood had went through.

 

“No, no, just my pride.”

 

“Therese, are you alright?”

 

“I am. I will be. I just want to dance.”

 

“Ok. I'll get you new clothes.”

 

She went out, still soaking wet, and put on the new clothes. It smelled like Carol but she knew they weren't the same size so it wasn't hers. It seemed everything had a bit of Carol for Therese.

She walked into the class room. It was the same but somehow different. They were alone and from now on Therese would always feel like Carol and her were alone in that room. The girls didn't like her, like really didn't like her. So what? So fucking what? They were scared of her and all their daddy's money could not buy them soul or talent. Therese had all that, Therese had real life behind her, Therese was not intimidated.

 

“Tell me, do you Americans have a pre-Halloween tradition?”

 

“Not that I know of.”

 

“Of course.” She paused and scratched at the skin on the side of her thumb. “I am sorry. I didn't mean to be late or arrive in that state. I am grateful and I know you don't do that with everyone.”

 

“It doesn't matter. Just tell me you're fine and not hurt. What was all that blood?” She sounded genuinely worried and a warm feeling made its home in her chest. Carol valued her enough to give her free private lessons and to want to know how she was.

 

“I am fine. It has to do with a pre-Halloween party. Not particularly fond of that tradition to be honest.”

 

Carol's brow furrowed but a smile also appeared. She didn't understand everything but it didn't matter. They were going to dance together.

 

Having Carol's eyes on her alone was terrifying: several times she lost all train of thoughts when she caught her looking. She stumbled because of that and swore to do better because she didn't want Carol to think she was incompetent. Therese had never seen Carol dance, not really, just for short movements but tonight she let it go, let her walls go down, let herself be true in front of Therese.

 

And it was beautiful. The first time Therese had seen Carol, she had stumbled upon simple steps. Therese would have thought it would, whatever she had, it would translate in her dance. But no, she was magnificent and seemed to transcend her body. Her movements were graceful and controlled, never out of line, never a millimeter off. It seemed like she was created entirely for that, entirely for Therese to look at. She blushed a bit at her over-zealousness. Of course, with her talent and her beauty Carol must have been wanted by everyone. Therese will have to settle at being her number one fan.

 

Her body was lithe and muscular and she was so tall and beautiful. Therese followed like she could but Carol's body, as well as her eyes, distracted her more than once. Therese did not look like that. She was muscular too, but not as much. And she was much shorter, people had told her she was too small to be a ballet dancer but she had just scoffed at them. Carol's breasts were big and round and Therese wondered how she could dance like that, like she was flying at times, with that weight on her. Her thighs were powerful under the thin cloth of her leotard, almost vibrating every time she moved. Her buttocks were plump and tight in her body suit, Therese wondered why she noticed that among other things. Well, she was being meticulous in the analysis of her teacher's body for the simple reason that she wanted to look like her. And she thought she might look like her after hard work and years of dancing.

 

They danced together, gliding on the floor, looking at each other: Therese to mimic everything, Carol to control she was doing it right. When it was not right Carol stopped and came closer, touching Therese in the problem areas. Her head was not high enough and Carol caressed the back of her neck to remind her to always elongate her body. Her leg was too taunt and she received two fingers on the muscle of her thigh, she trembled like a leaf at the contact and blamed it on the stress her leg was under. Her stomach was not sucked in enough and Carol's whole palm slid on her abs telling her to do it. For that Carol was behind Therese, the front of her body fitting entirely too well on her back. They could feel all of each other and Therese's breath came out ragged, Carol's hand on her moving with the action.

 

“Control your breathing.” Carol murmured, her wet mouth close to Therese's ear, making all the fine hair on her face shiver.

 

“I'm trying.” She turned her head slightly to the left where Carol was. She was already looking at her face. Blue eyes, red lips and flushed cheeks. What a beauty.

 

Ever so slowly the hand on her stomach slithered up and up until it was cupping her left breast. She was not wearing any bra, she had taken it off before her shower, and her nipple was so sensitive against the minimal friction of the hand. Therese closed her eyes briefly, her head slightly thrown back and a meager, almost imperceptible, whimper escaped her.

 

“Control your nerves, your heart beat is a tell tale.” Carol breathed out. She was so close Therese could have sworn she had felt the tip of her tongue on her ear.

 

Therese opened her eyes, she was slumped and the only thing holding her upright was Carol. “What a snitch.” Carol snickered, putting down her forehead on Therese's shoulder and Therese smiled fondly: she had done that.

 

They separated with difficulty but fell back to dancing naturally. “Tell me about Czechoslovakia, please.” She jumped and kept talking without being slightly breathless. “I miss touring. Tell me about your home.”

 

“My home? I don't know where that is anymore. But of course, I'll talk about my homeland, my _otčina_.” And Carol listened avidly, asking questions and doing sounds of exclamation at the right moment. Therese was not distracted anymore for the lesson, she focused on her story and her dance came spontaneously. She wondered if Carol had done it on purpose. She would have, she was so good.

 

“You know” She started when they were stretching, sweaty and red and out of breath “I think I am about to change our programming.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Are you aware we have to present something at the end of the year?” Therese shook her head negatively. “Oh dear, I didn't tell you much except come to the class, did I? Alright, well we have to. I thought about many ballets but I have to say _The Rite of Spring_ really caught my eyes, I nearly had forgotten it. But thanks to you” Carol's touched her nose. “We might very well do that. So that's the ballet and the selectors of the New York ballet as well as other ballets, even international ones, come and see. I'm not going to lie and promise something I cannot but every year at least five girls are chosen. You seem surprised.”

 

“It's such a little number, just in this class we must be forty.” She was a bit scared of that ridiculous number but it couldn’t make her forget that Carol had changed all her plans because of Therese's performance.

 

“Don't forget competition is brutal and yes only the best of the best are chosen.”

 

“Do you… Do you think I have a chance, even a little one?”

 

“With what you've shown me today, yes, of course.” Therese smiled and hid it in her shoulder. When she went to stand up she flinched hard and nearly fell down. But of course Carol was there in a second supporting her.

 

“Is it your muscles?”

 

“I have a cramp.”

 

“Come.” Carol took her hand and pulled her to another room where there was a bed. “Lie down.” Therese did not hesitate and went down, her leg cringing in pain. And suddenly Carol's hand were on her, massaging the sore spot without any mercy. The massage was rough at first and slowly became almost tender. Therese could not stop staring at Carol's hand on her thigh: it was the second time tonight she had touched her there and Therese felt like she was on fire. Was that normal to feel like that? Was she being weird? Concerned by that she raised her eyes to stop staring so intently, but she realized the loose top Carol had put on was well, loose, and with the way she leaning on Therese she could see almost everything that was under it. Her breasts, as she had imagined, were big and she wanted to touch the peachy skin so much, rub the hint of black lace she saw. Why would she think that? Now she was definitely being weird. She moved her eyes once again and saw Carol's eyes on her. She was looking at her under her long lashes in an almost coy way. Therese worried her lips with her teeth to stop herself from doing or saying anything she might regret (or not).

 

When she left Carol kissed her cheek goodbye and it was pitch dark and her legs would not stop shaking. She had to call a cab and spend money she didn't have because she was clearly unable to walk. She told herself it was the exercise but another traitorous voice said it was because of those hands.

*

 

 

 

The next day, Therese met her punk friend in front of the theater who asked her to call her 'Red' and who offered her a phone.

 

“What?” Therese was dumbfounded and looked at the nondescript beige phone whose cord was outstretched, probably from too much use.

 

“I found it and I heard you didn't have any. At first I wanted to sell it to that guy I know to buy new music cassettes but I mean you need it more so...” Red waved the telephone in her hand. “Come on take it, I want to call you at 3 AM to talk about the girl I just met at this café” Therese looked worriedly left and right to see if anyone had heard. That girl was too careless! “Yeah so anyway take it, look it's in okay state, like seriously rich people waste so many stuff, oh right let me tell you about that time I found an entire”

 

Therese laughed. Why had she tried to break the ice with the other girls, when she had a real friend under her nose all along. For the first time in a long time Therese felt good and at peace in the world. It was fine, she had Red and Carol and dancing.

 

God, Carol.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr! => bathsshebaa.tumblr.com


	6. Part 2

Therese Belivet hated Carol Aird with all her being. How could she have been fooled by this nice exterior? This affability, this generosity? That woman was a menace, a real panther.

 

Therese had jumped on the unbelievable chance to be a part of her class but she was regretting it every day. Well, that was not entirely true. Actually that was not true at all and she hoped she would stop being over dramatic. She felt her progress. She felt her posture getting better and that grand jeté get better and better among other things but by god at what price? Her classes were insufferable, as was Carol. She did not accept or tolerate anything but perfection. That was also why Therese Belivet loved Carol Aird with all her being.

 

The classes started everyday at 4:30 am. The class was overcrowded and the room was too small. It was a jungle. Therese felt like she was back in school, bullied for everything and anything. It was ridiculous how high the tension was running between the girls. She even saw two girls backstage slap each other; a real jungle. After that day where the group of girls had humiliated Therese, or so they thought, a kind of truce had taken place where none of the participants acknowledged Therese. She didn't want to be petty and it had been hard to not say anything at all but she felt she would waste her energy that was better employed in dancing. They feared her and she liked it.

 

And Carol in all this mess was the queen. A panther like Therese had taken the habit of nicknaming her. She moved so gracefully, her step light and heady to watch. Everyone was always mesmerized when she showed anything. But Therese had noticed it was rare, even after their private lessons where she had danced freely, in full classes she still expressed her instructions out loud and corrected the girls with her hands. Therese wondered if it was linked to the day of her audition when she had stumbled upon nothing, when her legs had betrayed her. What had happened? But also she was glad she was the only one who had enjoyed looking at her for real, without any barrier or mask.

 

Her touch was burning, branding Therese's body. She even shamefully pretended to do an exercise badly several times to have Carol come and touch her. She did not even know why, but her hands on her, sent warm feeling down the pit of her stomach. And when the session had been particularly rough, she loved to remember those touches when she was alone and cold in her small apartment. Those long fingers and that crimson nail polish haunted her dreams. A warm palm on the small of her back, fingers traveling up and down her calves, a firm hand at the back of her neck. A sweet, sweet hand on her breast.

 

She became jealous, an ugly thing rearing its head every time she helped another girl: she told herself she wanted Carol's undivided attention because she wanted to be the best, to improve her technique faster. But instead of resorting to petty stratagems like she had before to get her attention, she worked and worked harder. She was becoming better and she could see her dream coming back with a vengeance. Now she had tasted America, she had lived there and it was not as abstract as before, and it was _good_. She could say what she wanted, be whoever she wanted to be. She wanted to be the greatest Czech ballet dancer New York city and the whole world had ever seen.

 

“Therese, spread your legs a bit more.” She did. “No, no your whole back moved. Try to dissociate every part of your body. I say that for everybody here, don't be like a stick!” Carol moved closer to her. Therese breathed deeply and moved backward unconsciously trying to get closer to her. Suddenly she leaned forward, her mouth so close to Therese's ear. “Let me show you.” She shivered at the sensation and at what was to come: watching Carol dancing.

 

Carol moved in front of the class and turned around so her back was to the girls. Therese gasped, she had not even seen that the jerkin she was wearing was letting her back open. Carol's back was a thing of beauty, muscular, moving like waves of an impetuous sea, Therese was hypnotized. Her grip on the bar became painful, her knuckles getting white and her stomach clenching. It was beautiful, Carol was beautiful, her dancing was magical.

 

“See?” She smiled at Therese who could only nod dumbly. As if she could attain her level.

 

“Yes.” She answered with a smile.

 

Therese repositioned herself to the bar and tried an arabesque while keeping in mind what Carol had told her when she felt a foot coming out of nowhere and hitting the leg that was holding her up. She fell down with a yelp, hitting her cheek on the unforgiving wooden bar. In a second everybody was on her, trying to assess the situation and check up on her. The crowd parted around Carol and her gentle hands were on her cheek. When she put them away Therese saw blood on the tip of her fingers. Tainted, rotten, everything was going to hell. Her ankle was throbbing and the girl who had hit her was playing remorseful, claiming it was an accident. Fucking Florence.

 

“My ankle. . .” She managed to squeak out and Carol understood: she made someone grab ice while she examined her. Therese hissed as she touched a particularly bad place. Her ankle was swollen, already an angry red and she wanted to cry at the pain but mostly at the unfairness of the situation.

 

“All right, you'll be ok, dearest. It is simply twisted. You should be all right, don't worry.” Her hands were massaging her.

 

She stood up with difficulty against Carol's recommendations and saw the girl, the fucking girl, Florence hide her smile behind her hand. Therese was so angry she did not think and went toward the locker room, stumbling with a crooked gait. She could not stay there, she was so fucking angry. She never did those kind of things and had stayed away from all the drama these American girls could be up to and yet they had found her again. What had she done to make them angry again? Except being good at what she was doing, she had not even told Carol of their despicable behavior.

 

“Therese! Where are you going?” Carol called out after her and followed her.

 

“I'm leaving.”

 

“Does your ankle hurt?” She sounded worried.

 

Therese scoffed. “It's fine now. It's for the principle.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“Of a safe class! I don't want to check behind my back to watch out for knives! That's not dancing, is it?” Therese yelled out, scared and angry and hurt and so tired. The stress of the past weeks had been almost forgotten in the presence of Carol but came back in tenfold.

 

Carol's eyes were tightly closed and Therese regretted her outburst even though she did not know what brought such a reaction. “Who did this?”

 

“It doesn't matter.” Therese backtracked, having flashbacks of denunciations and slanders. Good people getting pressured, imprisoned, killed.

 

“Who did this to you?” She repeated louder, her mouth moving slowly around the syllables, her eyes almost dark, the blue swallowed down.

 

“Florence.” She whispered, feeling hot around the neck at the sight of a not collected Carol and shame for denouncing someone. But no that was not the same. She needed to get rid of that pervasive, permanent guilt for everything.

 

“I will get her out.” She sighed deeply. “That's competition. I had warned you, it is a cut-throat business. It does not excuse it but some people are desperate. Get some ice for your cheek, you will get a bruise.”

 

“It's fine. I'm still leaving.”

 

“The class is not over.” Carol's eyebrows were furrowed and she spoke sternly. “Don't tell me you are quitting.”

 

“It's for one class! I am not quitting.”

 

“This is not a menu. Working is everyday, every time. I don't need a girl who works when it's more convenient and who stops when it gets tough.”

 

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Therese pushed at Carol's shoulders who did not budge one millimeter. “Stop patronizing me all the damn time!”

 

“I am your professor. I am not nice, I told you as much. Get used to it.”

 

Therese shook her head and grabbed her bag. As far as she was concerned the discussion was over, this could only end very badly. She took her jeans and tee shirt from her bag and waited for Carol to leave. But the door remained shut and when she turned around Therese saw Carol sitting down on one of the bench, her arms crossed, and her eyes fixated on Therese.

 

“As I said the class is not over. We will spend it together, as planned.”

 

Ha. She thought she was smarter. But Therese was not a coward and if she thought she could be the most stubborn out of the two, she would prove her wrong. She started removing her ballet flats the velvety fabric sticking to her bloody blisters, then her leggings. She saw that she had forgotten to shave, but at that moment it didn't matter at all: Carol was seeing everything of her, the real her, the ugly parts, her body and her soul bare in front of her. And she was fucking pissed.

 

Carol had not moved at all but her eyes had widened a bit, shocked at the turn of events. Therese did not stop. She slid her shoulder straps down her shoulders and looked directly into Carol's eyes when her breasts were completely exposed to the stale, humid air of the locker room. She could feel her nipples peak, her usually pale pink nipples dark with blood. Carol's attention on her was the best feeling she ever had, almost as good as when Carol looked at her in class when she danced. Then her stomach was bare, the peachy body hair rising to the attention. Then she was naked, entirely, in front of Carol.

 

Carol's eyes were not even blue any more, a void of pupils enveloping everything else. Her mouth was barely open, her tongue peaking out, her hands restless. She stood up shakily. They were so close that when she stood up and leaned forward her lips touched one of Therese's breast, an almost kiss, unplanned, illicit, wonderful, the sensation too much and not enough and suddenly she was standing up, tall in front of a trembling Therese. She had not planned any of this but now she wanted more. But Carol was leaving, going back to the class, and Therese could only watch her back, her damn fucking back, beautiful, strong and untouchable.

 

Therese could not move, her legs were lead, her head was not on her shoulders any more. She just had the time to put on her jeans like a machine when she heard footsteps coming up. It was Florence who looked murderous. If she tried to touch Therese again she would not hesitate to hit back. Maybe she was a pacifist and absolutely non-violent but that girl was trying to ruin her and if she was too hurt to stop being able to dance what would she do? That would mean not seeing Carol any more. That would mean her dream being irrevocably ruined.

 

“Got what you wanted?” She was angry, spitting angry, and she was shaking her head.

 

“I got nothing out of it except bruises.” Therese could still feel her cheek throbbing and Florence was trying to reverse the situation as if she was the victim?

 

“I'm out!” She cried out. Therese could only stare at her perm and her neon lipstick. Western girls had a strange fashion style, that much she had gathered.

 

“Good.”

 

“Fuckin' bitch. You are such a teacher's pet, god, with all the names she calls you like 'my dear'. You fuckin' her? Is that it? Is that why you're the favorite?”

 

Therese gaped at her. “You are mad.”

 

“Oh yeah? Then what is that?” She pointed at Therese's still naked torso. When she looked down at it she saw two little smudges of lipstick on her breastbone distinctly resembling the shape of lips. That rich red Chanel lipstick. She knew it was Chanel because she had seen the lipstick tube when Carol had applied it one day. She felt faint and could not recognize her own fingers coming up and touching the red on her skin. She distantly heard Florence huff and leave while producing the loudest noises she could by slamming doors and screaming at people.

 

But everything was distant and Carol's lips had touched her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr! => bathsshebaa.tumblr.com


	7. Goulash and wine

Weeks passed and almost nothing changed. Carol pretended she had never seen her naked, Therese pretended she did not think about her lips every time she took a shower. But they talked all the time, after the classes, before. . .They talked and talked and they often had lunch together like the first day they met, but there were always two or three girls from the class with them. The bruise on her cheekbone was barely there anymore, an old yellow smear. Florence was long gone and the classes were still as hard. Every week Carol would put on a ruthless expression and asked girls to perform before each classes, at least one dancer every month was dismissed. That meant the classes got harder and the general standard was better, but as they were so many there was no real change in the number of girls. Therese still thought everyday about that ridiculous number of selected girls. But the hardest part yet? Carol was not as forthcoming as before, she barely touched her anymore. She told herself that it was because she was getting better and she needed less correction but no matter how many times she repeated that in her head it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

 

That was until after one class Carol grabbed Therese's wrist and asked her to come to her house for dinner. When she asked her blue eyes kept going to Therese's mouth and Therese had wanted to cry. In the time she had been in New York she had changed apartments three times and finally she had been able to rent a little room in Brooklyn without having to provide papers. The owner was an old man who had ranted about foreigners when hearing her accent but who had asked for cash and nothing else. God blessed America, and especially New York where everyone could do anything. With her classes that occupied most of her time she also did some undeclared work where she cleaned rich people's houses. She didn't care, she was doing her best until her dream could come true.

 

After the invitation she had spent about three hours in her little room of an apartment preparing a beef goulash, the smell and the smoke permeating her whole room. But she didn't care, it smelled like home and she was excited about her dinner with Carol. What was it? What should she call it? Oh it didn't matter, she was going to be alone with Carol. And dinner was not the same as lunch. It had different connotations Therese was too nervous to think too much about.

 

She took the subway then walked there and she was not surprised that Carol was living in the best part of town. Well she did not know much about the parts of town but the way people were looking at her and the huge dish she was carrying said it all. She rang the doorbell and the most beautiful smile appeared on Carol's face.

 

“Hello! Glad you could make it.”

 

“Of course.” _I am so happy you invited me, I am so happy to see you_ she wanted to say. “I made some goulash.” She said.

 

“Oh! Never had it. Thank you, put it on the table.”

 

Therese came in and was amazed at the interior beautifully decorated, warm colors and a general sense of delicateness. She went to put in on the table when she froze: there were other people sitting on the couch and talking. What a stupid, stupid girl she was. It was a party, a mingling and Carol had invited her among others. She saw a few girls from the class and her stomach dropped definitely. She wasn't special at all, why did she ever entertain this idea? She was a dancer among others.

 

She talked to a few people, trying to blend in, but having a difficulty doing so. She felt out of place and she asked several times for people to repeat what they were saying. She stopped trying after a while. She looked over at Carol, who was always at the very opposite of the room, and saw in her expression such a loneliness she could not comprehend. It was her house, full of her friends and people she knew, why was she looking like she would do anything to be elsewhere? Not to say she wasn't the glue of this party because she was: she talked to everybody, glided between the rooms, laughing at jokes, smiling politely. She was the center of attention, the center of everything.

And yet. . .Her expression seemed phony. Loneliness was a feeling Therese was very well acquainted to.

 

When they sat down to eat Therese had already given up hope for this night, she just hoped to eat well and then she would sleep as soon as she touched her bed.

 

“Teresa is that it?” A man with dark hair and bored eyes inquired. “Pass me the potatoes, please.” She nodded and gave him the dish.

 

“Actually it's Therese.” Carol spoke out, shocking Therese enough that she nearly dropped the potatoes. Why was she paying attention to her?

 

“Yes, that's true.” She answered with a smile directed at the blonde.

 

“Same thing.” The man disregarded, his mouth full of potatoes.

 

Carol and Therese looked at each other, sharing a secret smile.

 

“So wait, what's that accent?” The man kept going. Therese could see little bits of potatoes flying away from his mouth.

 

“Harge leave the poor girl alone, she probably wants to eat in peace.” Carol said in a placating way.

 

“It's fine Carol. I come from Czechoslovakia.” She answered with a quick reassuring smile.

 

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Where's that?”

 

She thought about it, Americans knew nothing about Europe and even less about Eastern Europe. “On the East of Germany.” Usually they knew Germany.

 

The man, Harge, put down his fork with a loud clank and the other guests stopped to watch curiously. His bored eyes had turned vicious. “You Russian?”

 

Was this going to be her life now? Repeating words affirming her identity in fear of being erased or put apart or othered. “No I am Czech.”

 

Harge looked at the other guests with his eyebrows raised as if asking for support: he seemed to get it because wherever Therese looked she was met with squinting eyes and loud whispers. “Same thing, right?” He sneered.

 

Therese put down her fork too and looked at him levelly. “Go tell that to the thousands of Czech people getting killed or imprisoned because of our dear Soviet sister.” She stood up suddenly, not being able to stand the looks of those people. She wasn't in the company of friends: the girls from her class were as jealous of her as she was of them to have Carol's attention, Carol's friends and acquaintances were rich and powerful and so smart they had been talking about a mix of philosophy and dance theory and classical music and Therese was not that smart, she felt once again, like most of her life inadequate. Only Carol and her smile had made her feel welcome and good. She just was sick of not being good enough. She walked out, simply and like that. People muttered, talked about her, she did not care, she was leaving.

 

She felt like déjà-vu when Carol went after her and begged her not to leave. “You can say I am a quitter, I don't care, I just can't do it.” She explained preemptively, but Carol didn't seem to want to accuse her of anything of the sort. She just looked at her, really looked at her. It was unnerving and Therese was getting fidgety. She felt naked like she was that time.

 

“I can't do it either.” She finally said. “Can I kiss you?” She added as an afterthought, as if they had been having a different conversation or if Carol was following her own train of thoughts.

 

Therese was dumbfounded, was America that free? Was Carol? Here, in the dim-lighted foyer of that bourgeois house, it seemed incongruous, out of place. “I don't want to go to prison.” She said as if reciting something because she was scared, she was impressed, she wanted Carol's lips on hers more than anything but she was stalling. She was not good enough. Her head was spinning in all the directions. Prison, she settled on prison because it was tangible, it was a thing she was scared of, everybody was scared of it, it was legitimate. She did not want to think about her feelings. Had Carol really said that? The more time passed between them, the more she got convinced she had invented it all.

 

“It's America, my love.” Carol stepped back. “You can say no, you know.”

 

 _My love!_ “It's the last thing I want to do.”

 

Carol's face fell and one of her hands went on her stomach. “Yes, of course, I am sorry. I don't know what took over me.”

 

She hated her contradicting feelings, her indecisiveness. English in her mouth was imperfect and she hated her accent and her hesitations and her grammatical mistakes and her lack of vocabulary if her not being able to express herself correctly hurt Carol like that. “Oh no, no, no. The last thing I want to do is say no, that's what I meant.”

 

“Oh.”

 

They leaned toward each other, an invisible thread pulling them together. They were breathing in each other, deep, and Therese's nose tip touched Carol's cheek. They were kissing, their lips slowly familiarizing themselves with the unknown. Slow like molasses they moved, slightly, just slightly, testing each other and their sensations. Therese let out a low whimper when she felt a tongue cautiously poking the corners of her lips. And suddenly it was wet and slick and Therese could have died at the sweetness of it. Kissing a girl, no Carol was not a girl but a woman, kissing a woman was so good she didn't think she could get enough of it. Carol's long, dreamy fingers tugged a bit at her short brown hair and Therese wished she had let them grow a bit more so she could feel even more, even more pain, even more sinful pleasure. She wanted it all. God, kissing Carol was like being on a stage, dancing, losing oneself, feeling the love of the people, feeling loved, feeling like a queen, like nothing can ever stop that feeling. It was good, it was perfect, it was perfect.

 

They kissed and Therese did not ever want to go back: back there she would be thrown into forced labor for being a deviant, a pervert, a traitor to communism. She wanted to be in Carol's arms forever.

 

“Let's leave.”

 

“What?” Therese was dazed and could not look away from the lipstick, the red Chanel, all smudged and blurry on Carol's lips. Therese did that, she could not be more proud of herself.

 

“Let's go to your place.”

 

“What about your friends?”

 

“What friends? Colleagues I can barely stand. Fuck them, let's go.”

 

They went to leave, holding each others' hands and smiling that secret smile when Carol made a detour to the kitchen to grab the goulash she had brought and a bottle of wine. “I suppose we'll be hungry afterward.” That sentence was the hottest thing Therese had ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr! => bathsshebaa.tumblr.com


	8. Fantasy

“Wine makes me feel naughty. In a good way.” Therese declared when Carol was trying to open the wine bottle: trying because Therese did not have any corkscrew and it proved to be quite difficult to open a bottle of wine with a knife and her will. However immediately after she said it she cringed, like she regretted it. Carol chuckled.

 

“Good, I wouldn't have it any other way.” She answered while biting her lip. God, that was refreshing and good this flirting. Liberating, really. Carol remembered watching from her window the 1970s marches for sexual liberation, the men kissing other men, the women kissing other women. The physical wall separating her from them could not have been a better metaphor for the situation she was in. And Abby, her dear Abby who actually went out in the street fearless with her girlfriend of the time. She had told Carol before going that she was also marching for her that day, that Carol would be there with them, celebrating, having fun, being proud, in spirit at least. Carol had smiled and hugged her best friend before crying. The people of the theater would have buried her if she had gone.

 

But now it was the 1980s, things were getting slowly better. And the way Therese had talked about prison. . . She did not want her to go back to her country ever, she would not be able to stand it, she knew it already. She finally poured the wine. Therese's apartment was sparse to say the least but it was hers so Carol could not care less. There were many postcards pinned to the wall of places in Europe and photos of people smiling. She did not know if they were her family or her friends or anonymous people in the street but she loved them anyway. Actually she had an inkling: Therese was as alone as she was, no family to speak of, rare friends. These people were strangers and she had tried to capture their feelings. Carol was in love with Therese, there was no way around it.

 

Therese was drinking her wine from a mustard glass, holding it with her two hands, looking up at Carol with her gray eyes. Lovely and young and innocent. She was beautiful and adorable with her short bob of hair, always a bit messy. And her trademark look of oversized jeans and simple white tee shirt she wore almost everyday. And of course always without a bra, because Carol's sanity was not something she was concerned with. That thought made Carol feel shame without her will. As a woman loving women she was always scared someone would accuse her of perverting young girls in her line of work, and looking at the glass of alcohol in Therese's hands did not appease her, on the contrary. She needed to be sure of what they were doing.

 

“Tell me Therese, tell me what you want.”

 

“You.” She said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It broke something in Carol's chest, a dam for good things, an overflow of joy.

 

They kissed again and that was even better than last time where it was rushed and dangerous. They had all night long, they had everything. She removed the dress she had worn for this stupid, useless party and she was in her underwear in front of Therese. A gobsmacked Therese, looking like Jesus had reappeared. Having that power over someone was perilous, she could take a taste for it like blood, wanting more and more. But she did not need all that or other people when Therese looked at her like that, that was enough, that was everything.

 

She undressed Therese as fast. They had about a dozen years in difference and they did not look like each other at all but their bodies were both the bodies of ballet dancers. She could see in the wiry muscle the hours of work she had put, and the way she twisted her leg when she advanced translated how she would do this or that position. She already knew her body from looking at her now and everyday in her class.

 

That did not mean she wouldn't take her time to actually explore it, theory was nice but practice was so much better. She went to kiss Therese again, because she was drunk on the sweet taste of her and of the sweet wine they had drank when she saw what Therese was watching with interest: her knee. Her fucked up, botched knee. Carol had forgotten about it, even though it always hurt and it was ugly and red and scarred. But she had forgotten it because Therese was here and she was in love.

 

“I look a fright.” She said self deprecatingly. She hated that fucking knee.

 

Therese shook her head wildly, seeming offended at those words.“You do not. You look wonderful.”

 

Carol laughed. “Really.”

 

“Really. Now let me touch you please.”

 

Carol licked and suckled on Therese's peaking nipples, the breasts that were imprinted in her vision since that day in the locker room. God that day, if she had put her mouth a bit more on the right one of her breasts would have touched her lips and the thought alone made her wetter than she had ever been. Even now thinking about it while actually touching and tasting her breasts made her hot.

 

She had not licked any girl for years but doing it again was so natural. Therese was lying down on the mattress on the floor she called bed while Carol was between her legs, licking away at the wetness. She had almost forgotten how much she liked it, how much she hungered for it. There was nothing between them, the contact so intimate, the sensation so real. It was raw and Carol felt like a wild beast feasting. The taste alone could have made her come endlessly, sweet and tangy at the same time, so different in all the girls but always better when you loved the girl. And Carol had an infinite affection for Therese. She licked and moved back a bit to look at her work. If she looked closely she was sure she could see Therese's lips throb, pounding to the rhythm of her heart. She was wet and hairy and Carol put her nose gently on her pubic bone, smelling and feeling all the hair, all the wetness, and the hot skin. Her lips finding purchase on anything they touched, sticky and hungry.

 

Therese's hips were trying to get her closer to Carol's mouth, humping up and up and up and Carol smiled. It was a beautiful sight. Therese was biting down on her bottom lip or on her fingers, trying to stifle her cries of joy, of excitement.

 

A thought occurred to Carol. “Therese, Therese. Did you ever have sex?”

 

In her pleasure Therese took a few seconds to understand that Carol had stopped touching her and even longer to understand the question. “Do my fingers count?”

 

Carol did not know what she had expected. Would she have felt jealous had Therese said yes? She didn't think so, she was not like that. But then again Therese had a way of making her react and feel in such a gut way like when she said Florence had actively and willingly hurt her: she had felt so protective, so angry. She wanted Therese safe and happy.

 

But that answer, that answer made Carol kiss everywhere she could reach, she was even more turned on at the thought. “Did you ever think of me when you touched yourself?”

 

“So many times.”

 

She had been joking but a moan came out of her. “Me too.”

 

“Really?” Therese raised her head a bit to look at her in the eyes. “What did you imagine?”

 

“Pretty much what I've got in front of me right now.” That talk was sexy and arousing but she had the real thing in front of her, they were both so wet it was ridiculous, and she wanted to go back to work. She licked and sucked until half of her face was wet with Therese. A trickle of saliva joined Carol's lips and Therese's clitoris. That was good, that was fucking good.

 

“I need to come, now, I swear, I need to come.” Therese pleaded and begged. She sat up and they kissed. Therese slowed down their kiss to stare with hooded eyes at Carol, then she chased back Carol's lips with a high whimper and she lapped at all the wetness that had come from her. “I need your fingers.” Carol put her hand down and let Therese, up on her knees, put Carol's hand between her thighs. She rocked up and down on it, controlling everything, the rhythm, the intensity. Carol felt like she was watching Therese dance, how bizarre to think that, but Therese on a stage or in the center of a room allowed no one to look elsewhere. Her thighs were contracted and moved swiftly in a mad rhythm only she knew. Some beads of sweat accumulated between her perky breasts and Carol could not help herself and licked away, tasting the salty skin.

 

In that position they were even closer to each other than before kissing repeatedly, caressing their bodies. It was good and Therese was ecstatic. She was seeing all over again that solo she had performed on the first day of class: her head thrown back, her arms agitating, her emotions raw and open for everyone to see. No, not everyone, that was only for Carol. Therese moved like a possessed woman, and she suddenly jerked back and forth with a renewed energy, Carol could feel her coming, she was reaching her orgasm in such a painful way. Her orgasm wrenching itself out of her, the violence of it making her vibrate. Carol could feel on her hand the pulses of each wave of intense pleasure and she drank on the sounds she made, the mix between groans and moans Therese let out as each tide came over her.

 

She slumped back immediately, her chest heaving, her lips red, her pussy glistening. Carol felt so lucky and leaned down once again to taste her, she kitten licked and Therese twitched and sobbed a bit. “That felt good?”

 

Shyly she tried to hide her blushing cheeks in her pillow but Carol was faster and she kissed her embarrassment away, mixing their saliva and Therese's taste without hesitation. “I never imagined it could be like that.” She looked at Carol's body. “Do you want me to. . ?”

 

Carol felt that what they had already done was a lot for Therese and she certainly did not want to push her. “You don't have to do anything.” As she was about to protest, Carol put her finger on her lips. Therese opened her mouth a bit and licked it, Carol's eyes rolled at the back of her head. “I won't lie though, I am very aroused. I could. . . touch myself. You wouldn't have to do anything at all but watch. Or I'll do it in the bathroom if it's really too much.”

 

Therese closed her eyes tightly and opened them with a flow of emotions. She seemed grateful. “I love watching you.”

 

So she did. Carol left on her panties but removed her cumbersome and painful bra. She loved her breasts, they were firm and round and looking at Therese's face she liked them too. She had learnt to like them: doing ballet with breasts a big larger than average had been so painful because of the physical toll on her back and such and because of the comments made on her appearances and her body without her consent. But now she liked her body, she liked looking in Therese's eyes and feeling her love for her body. And her eyes on her made her feel sexy and brave and hot everywhere. She pinched her nipples the way she liked, her eyes already misty with excitement. Her nipples were big and soft and she loved twirling them between her fingers, watching them get hard under her ministrations. She would have wanted to make it long, make it last, give Therese a show but she could not wait anymore, she had already waited too long, she was about to burst.

 

Her hands traveled down and found the silky feel of her panties. She touched herself through it and the usually soft but here rough fabric on her sensitive skin made her cry out loud. She hoped Therese's neighbors were not too annoying about noise. It had been so long, she loved it and could not contain herself.

 

“Please Carol, please come here so I can touch you, for god's sake!”

 

She stopped everything. “But, what about taking it slow?”

 

“I thought it'd be too much and I was not ready but looking at you like that is absolute torture. I want to touch you, please.”

 

“I've created a monster!” She laughed before lying down beside Therese. They kissed sweetly, not deeply. Therese was still tired it seemed but eager to discover. Her face was almost shy now, her eyes looking everywhere, her cheeks permanently red and her teeth biting down on her lips. Carol wondered if she had taken that habit from her and that simple thought warmed her deeply. Her dimples were deep and Carol touched and kissed them like she had wanted to do the first time she had seen them. Therese's fingers were light as a feather on her body and they all sent shivers down Carol's entire body. They finally settled on Carol's core, setting her aflame. She moaned deeply, arching up and up toward Therese.

 

“Does it feel good?” Therese asked while moving her fingers slowly.

 

“Fuck me, it does, of course it does. My Therese. Oh there, keep going, fuck.” She lost all her bravado and her exuberant confidence she had shown earlier, she was just a sobbing mess now.

 

“Do you want to know what I was imagining when I was touching myself?”

 

Carol let out a scream, and her hips bucked uncontrollably. “Yes.” She uttered hoarsely, her throat rough and her lips dry.

 

Therese's fingers moved faster and faster and Carol was seeing before her eyes Therese getting more confident. She was just so happy. “You were always in my imagination. It would often be in the classroom. And… usually in front of everyone else. I don't… I'm not an exhibitionist, no, but I mean it's just a fantasy and oh god everyone would see you like me, everyone would see I'm all yours.” Carol was trying to keep her eyes open to look upon Therese's perfect face, flushed and sexy and the image she was painting was too much, Carol had to close her eyes and imagine too. “And I never imagined anything too particular because… I don't, well I didn't know how it went, you know, sex. So it'd be quite abstract and yet… Ok, we always kissed. Your tongue touching me from within alighting everything in me. And hmmmm, you would kiss me everywhere, especially on my breasts like that time in the lockers. I… Fuck that made me come so hard. Did you know I kept your lipstick on me several days? I was so happy and I felt so good that you left a mark on me. I felt like I was all yours.” That was the last straw and Carol's mouth moved in all directions trying to control the untamed cries coming out of her against her will. Her whole body shook and she held on Therese's soft arm as a life buoy. If she hadn't held on she would have drowned.

 

“Therese, Therese.” She whispered softly when her vision stopped being blurry. “Kiss me.” Oh god she was so in love, she was completely lost.


	9. Miluji tě

Afterward, none of them could sleep. They looked at each other for a long time without talking, their fingers doing everything for them. They ate the goulash and drank the wine. Then they went back to bed in each other's arms, unable to be separated more than a few minutes. That night had been surreal to Therese who had only hoped to get a good night sleep without embarrassing her too much at the beginning of Carol's party. She had had sex and at that moment she was so glad she had not done it with anyone before, man or woman, because it would have irrevocably paled in comparison. And selfishly Therese did not want anyone else touching her or any intimate memories with someone else. No, these memories with Carol were hers and hers alone. Only Carol's hand had touched her, only Carol's lips had kissed her. She wanted to keep that forever.

 

“Do you have any disinfectant and bandage?” Carol asked out of the blue. She said 'yes in the bathroom' and Carol went to fetch everything. She came back and knelt on the mattress that still smelled like sweat and sex and Carol's perfume. “You shouldn't keep your blisters out in the air like that.” And she started dabbing some oxygenated water on her blisters. She hissed in pain, the pain absolutely horrifying and Carol kissed the soles of her feet while apologizing. Then she bandaged everything up. They were both naked and the desire was still high but after that Therese wanted to cuddle and kiss Carol for her tenderness.

 

But she rolled over on the other side: she could have stood up and walked but she chose to roll on Carol's naked and voluptuous body, feeling all her skin on her and taking advantage of the position to kiss Carol one more time. She grabbed a tape in her shelf and put it in her small TV. She almost ran back to the mattress because she hadn't realized before but it was really chilly.

 

“It's cold!” She said while cuddling with Carol, her face resting at the base of her breasts, all pretense of shyness swept away. She breathed in the warm skin.

 

“I've noticed you don't have any heater. Is that even legal?” She looked around the room with disdain and Therese was a bit ashamed of this dump of an apartment. “We will have to stay close to keep warm. What a chore!” She said while kissing down the back of Therese's neck, tickling her.

 

Therese giggled. “Wait wait, watch that.” They turned toward the TV and Therese turned up the volume. There on the screen was Carol, ten years ago, playing Odette in the classic _Swan Lake_. Therese watched worriedly Carol's face. Was she going to be angry? “I found that at the library.. I didn't know it was you but I recognized you immediately.”

 

“How did you recognize me?” She asked, her eyes never leaving the screen, as if she had trouble finding her younger self in the crowd.

 

The girls were all dressed the same like Russian dolls mixed and impossible to recognize a face, even more so considering that Therese's TV was small and did not show a good quality. And yet. “I knew it was you. The way you move is so you. And I've learnt your movements, I've memorized the shape of your body. I know you.”

 

Her face was unreadable. “Ask me things, go ahead.” Carol started, leaning on her side, showing a curvy hip Therese wanted to bite into. Strangely, Carol had guessed her thoughts before she even thought them. She wanted to know everything about Carol, things only she and her would know.

 

Tchaikovsky was still in the background but neither of them paid attention to the TV anymore. “What happened to your knee?” She dared ask while caressing it with the tips of her fingers. She felt all the scars, imagined the hotness of the red parts.

 

Carol sighed and chuckled nervously. “Yes, that.”

 

Despite the fact that she had asked Therese to ask her about it, she was still nervous and Therese could not accept that. “Listen. I will give you a very private confidence and you will give me one. Confidence for confidence. Fifty fifty.”

 

“Alright.” She looked away, her eyes a bit glassy. “It's still painful today, you know. And I mean that literally and figuratively. God. I… There was this girl” She started and Therese had to push away and bury all the malevolent feelings of pure jealousy that surged through her. She had to accept Carol had been the first for her in every way but Carol had a life before her. “And I was so young, I thought, that's it!” She shook her head as if chastising her younger self. Therese squeezed her knee. “But she didn't care, she wanted to rebel against her parents and she had a boyfriend. I didn't know that at all, I was at the top of my game! I signed so many autographs, I was given so many solos, everybody wanted me.” A wistful fervor took over her face. “But she clearly didn't. I saw her in the audience while I was dancing. She was with said boyfriend, kissing and I don't really remember, I just remember missing my step and falling hard on my knee.” Carol unfolded her legs and came closer to Therese to kiss her, to come back to the present. “That's why when you fell, well when that girl pushed you, I saw red. I could have slapped her! I was just so scared and I saw what happened to me over and over again happening to you. That is just not possible.” They kissed and kissed for a long time, sharing saliva and breath before Carol spoke again in a quiet voice. “The surgeon was a quack and butchered my knee beyond repair. My career was over, phew, just like that.”

 

“But you still dance. I saw you dance, it's beautiful.”

 

“My sweet. I can dance, but not for a long period of time and usually after intense sessions of physio. And anyway even if I still could, my employers were quite content to put me away after my relationship with this girl was put to light.”

 

“Ah see? America is not so great after all.”

 

“I never said that. Let's say, it's good in some things and absolutely lousy in others.” She smiled despite her words. “People like us… It's still hard, I won't lie. But-”

 

“I don't care.” Therese burst suddenly, even shocking herself. She had been scared enough, she was still scared but she wanted last night over and over and over again her whole life. She didn't want anything or anyone else. If that was her life now, well, that was it.

 

Carol's smile was so happy she could have been blinded by it. “Good, I don't care either. Not if it's for you.” Her long fingers tickled under one of her breasts. “Your turn to divulge something that we might not be able to say when it's day.”

 

Yes, those kind of confidences were made for the night. And this night was perfect, the wind a bit too powerful making swooshing noises that might remind one of Gothic tales. “I learnt English through really bad, cheap films that cost me less money to buy than the entire budget to make them probably. I only had one friend, a boy. My parents died when I was really young. I was born in Prague. I cannot swim.”

 

“Wait wait darling. Tell me about your parents.” Carol's eyes were sad for her and Therese had not been sad about her parents for a long time, she had accepted it.

 

“They were teachers I've been told. They signed the Charter 77.” Excepting her interlocutors to understand she did not explain but Carol looked confused. “It's a petition against brutality and the whole totalitarian government. Said government didn't like that and they were imprisoned. Then they died. Common story for Eastern Europeans.” She realized she was just reciting without any feelings but she wasn't doing it on purpose. It had been such a long time ago and it had been the only way to cope. “It's life, c'est la vie.” She shrugged almost maniacally.

 

“No, no it's not! God, Therese, my darling I'm sorry you had to go through that.” She embraced her and put her hands everywhere. After a while they became sleepy but had a hard time closing their eyes so Carol proposed something. “Teach me some Czech, please. I don't even know how it goes.”

 

“Miluji tě.” She mouthed in Carol's collarbone.

 

Carol shivered. “Oh that's pretty.” She tried to repeat it but her American accent butchered it and Therese laughed. “Be nice, I'm trying!” But Carol was laughing too, Carol felt the vibrations of it on her lips. “So tell me, what does it mean?”

 

“It means...” She smiled playfully. “Я тебя люблю.”

 

“Now you're just making fun of my poor American education! That sounded different, what language was that?”

 

“Russian.”

 

“Wait you speak three languages?”

 

“Five actually.”

 

“Oh fuck. Now I feel uneducated. Where's that wine? I need it.”

 

They laughed and talked a bit more but sleep was getting more and more pressing. She would sleep in her lover's arms and that meant she was going to sleep soundly.

 

 

*

 

Therese opened the door of Carol's office. It had been months since their first night together and Therese did not know how to define what they were but did not have any desire to do it either. They loved each other, she knew that much. The classes were still the same, they only shared secret smiles and Therese would often use the shower with Carol at the end of the classes after everyone had left. And more often than not Therese could come back to the theater at the end of they day after her job to go back to Carol's house where they ate and slept and lived together.

 

Carol was hunched on her desk, her reading glasses on the tip of her nose, one of her hand in her disheveled hair: Carol was not always a femme fatale and Therese only loved her more for it.

 

“Carol?”

 

She raised her head and smiled before reaching out to Therese with her hand. “Hard day at work. Come and save me, my love.”

 

Therese walked over and without pause went on her knees under the desk. She raised Carol's skirt and almost immediately plunged two fingers in her. She had learnt about Carol the time they had been together and if she was stressed she needed something rough to disconnect. She moved her fingers to the rhythms of Carol's moans. The door was not even locked and they both knew it. She raised the skirt more and licked at Carol, she tasted and tasted and drank. She had become addicted to doing that and Carol often commented on her eagerness after that initial shyness she possessed. She loved feeling everything of Carol under her tongue, the smooth pink skin, the throbbing clitoris, the flowing arousal.

 

She thought Carol was not yet disconnected enough from her work and she twisted her fingers sharply in her and loved the results with Carol moaning so hard Therese felt it in her mouth. She let her fingers curved inside of Carol whose legs were so far apart, who was biting her palm without realizing it, who was panting like an animal in heat. Therese looked with fascination where her fingers disappeared inside of Carol and she felt something indescribable at the sight. She was absolutely exquisite and Therese wanted to pinch herself because of her luck. She kept going, touching and licking biting until Carol shook, her entire being shaking with pleasure.

 

Therese stayed there, down, looking up at her, at her golden skin covered by a thin layer of sweat, at her round and high cheekbones that always gave her the appearance of mischievous youth, her soft blue eyes always looking at her with such a tender expression Therese could cry, her long lashes casting shadows and tickling Therese whenever they kissed, her breasts, god dammit her breasts she could write odes to them. She was perfect, perfect for Therese. So Therese stayed down and admired her while kissing her smooth inner thighs, leaving saliva mixed with Carol's excitement wherever she touched.

 

Finally she sat on Carol's lap and they kissed. Therese passed her hand through Carol's hair. “Oh, you have some gray hair.” She noted absentmindedly.

 

“You sure know how to make a girl feel good.” Carol joked while kissing the hand that had been in her hair.

 

“Didn't I make you feel good just now?”

 

“Of course you did. It's just… I have a hard time letting go of my youth and becoming an old woman. Especially since we become so old so fast in ballet. First the glasses, now the hair...”

 

“I love it, it's sexy. And I love you.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

They talked a bit, about dinner, about their days, about Therese's absolutely awful snob employers, about the upcoming final representation in which Therese was to have the solo. “Please tell me. Did you choose me because… well because we are seeing each other?” Therese asked suddenly too serious.

 

“Therese, Therese look at me. Would you ever believe that? How could I do that? I value dance too much to do that. I chose with my professor's eyes and my artist's heart. I chose you even before we started all this, I knew when you dance _The Rite of Spring,_ I knew it was you.”

 

And Therese was convinced immediately because Carol was true to dance and would never do anything against it by choosing the wrong person to personify a work of art. Furthermore Carol's reputation was always at stakes during representations and with the girls.

 

Carol was putting on her Chanel lipstick. “I'm going to lunch with Abby. Do you want to come?”

 

Therese had met Abby several times and she already loved her. “Yes.”

 

Carol's eyes shone and Therese understood that them appreciating each other was important to Carol. “Good. She wants to introduce me to someone.” She hesitated a bit but finally said. “Her girlfriend.”

 

Therese was surprised, surprised because she didn't think Abby was like _that_ but also because it was all so new for her and discovering people were like her was still such a strange feeling. “I need to get ready too and I don't have make up. Share with me.”

 

Carol seemed amused. “You never wear make up at all. Ok, ok, I'll share.” She leaned into Therese and kissed her deeply. Her matte lipstick was still fresh and Therese could feel it on her lips. They kissed even more, forgetting everything else when the door opened suddenly. Therese's heart hammered away in her chest in a way that had nothing to do with Carol for once. She was already in a flight or fight mindset when she heard laughter. She dared look at the people who had came in and saw Abby with Red laughing with mirth.

 

“Therese! Good for you girl!” Red exclaimed.

 

The lunch they had was the best Therese could remember. With friends and laughter and embarrassing stories of Carol's past. Therese could not have dreamed of better friends. It was perfect and felt like paradise.

 

*

 

It was why she didn't understand what was happening to her and Carol. One day she took a shortcut she did not know before to go back to her apartment and saw the door already open. She peeked inside to see Red opening with a screwdriver the telephone she had given her while talking in German to herself. At that moment Therese understood and the floor gave out under her. The telephone was tapped and she was recuperating the records.

 

The 'r' that were too rough in her mouth, her insistence on slang and being the most American woman she could be, the desire to trap her when they had met by flirting with her, her not giving any name but a code name 'Red'.

 

The Stasi was after her. The East had found her again.


	10. Renaissance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: homophobic slur

She needed to find Carol, she needed to… She didn't know what to do but seeing Carol seemed like the right solution. What was she going to do? She had to run away. But where? Where could she go? She was so tired already and the thought of having to start all over again was too much. Where could she go? She thought America was it, the land of the free and she could finally live in peace. They would repatriate her to Czechoslovakia or worse to the Soviet Union. Why were they watching her? Did they do that to all the ones who had run away? She was lost and dying and she needed to see Carol. Oh no, a terrible thought took over her already weak mind. What if she had put Carol in danger? What if because of her they were also watching Carol and could threaten her? She felt sick, sick to her stomach, sick everywhere.

 

The spectacle was less than a month away and everything had been going so well. They were doing _The Rite of Spring_ and Therese was made for it and every time they rehearsed she could feel her own story unfolding. It was her, shedding her old skin to become someone new. But no, no, life would not be so kind with her and her past was coming back with a vengeance. The worst part of it all was the pure betrayal Therese had been subjected to. Her only friend, her dear friend. Just a ruse, just a trick, just a cover. She wondered if dating Abby had been part of her plan to get closer to Therese and she just felt sick again for Abby who definitely did not deserve that.

 

She went directly to Carol's house, knowing she would be there, and was completely gobsmacked and utterly terrified when she saw two very serious men in black suits and black suitcases through the window. Were they already doing their work? Was she too late to do anything at all? She hid and waited until they left to come inside the house.

 

Carol was sitting on her couch, looking pale and weak and Therese threw herself at her knees, her hands touching her face and her eyes searching for anything. “Carol, Carol, what's going on?” She asked even though she knew, but she didn't understand anything, so _what's going_ on seemed to fit.

 

Carol's eyes were tired almost transparent and the bags under her eyes were dark and purple. Her very sparse gray hair on her temple seemed to stand out so much more because of her pale face and overall she looked like she had aged of ten years in a few minutes. She only had seen her the day before and she seemed to glow from the inside as usual. Therese hated herself and her problems that made Carol look and feel like that. “That was Florence's father's lawyer. And the NY ballet's lawyer.” Therese did not understand., what was Florence doing in the middle of that? “They want to fire me because of 'inappropriate behaviors with the girls.' They just found an excuse to fire me for being a lesbian.” And Carol cried and Therese wanted to die. She also wanted to kill them for making her feel this way. She thought America was for equality and liberty and was that all bullshit?

 

“They can't do that.” Her own voice was watery.

 

“Of course they can, they can do anything. But you know...” She wiped her tears and Therese helped her by kissing away the wetness on her cheeks. “It was all Florence. She went to see me in my office to tell me of her intentions. She wants to be included again in the class and she wants your place in the spectacle. If I don't do that they'll fire me. Her father is rich and powerful and donates millions of dollars to the theater. In short I'm fucked.”

 

“Do it.” She said instinctively. “Replace me with her.” She knew as she said it that she meant it with all her heart, even though it broke it at the same time.

 

“No. I won't. It's your dream, you've worked so hard. I can't take it away from you, I love you too much and I wouldn't be able to live with myself.”

 

She didn't know Therese was already a lost cause, she was going back, she was not going to be a dancer. Just a prisoner, a deviant, an enemy. “Do it.” She repeated but this time with more force and certainty.

 

Carol opened and closed her mouth in succession clearly confused. “Are you going to just give up your dream like that?”

 

“For you.”

 

“I don't want that, I want to see your dream come true. You're so young and you deserve it more than anyone and you've worked so hard ~~”~~

 

“It does not matter!” She cried out, letting tears flow freely. “I'm going back to Czechoslovakia they've found me. Probably will condemn me for immorality on top of leaving the country. In short I'm fucked.”

 

If Carol looked sad and lost and tired before now she looked like death had personally knocked on her door. “No. No no no no no, impossible. I won't let you, I won't let them. Fuck! Fuck Therese! I didn't even think it was a possibility anymore. You are in the United States, they can't take you back!”

 

“Are you telling me some nasty American businessman has more power than the entire superpower of the East?”

 

“It- It has nothing to do- God Therese what are we going to do?”

 

“I don't know. I feel like the entire world is telling us we shouldn't be together or happy.”

 

“Fuck the world! I cannot believe this is happening. I'm still reeling.” Carol leaned back on the couch and Therese sat beside her. They held hands but they could not look at each other's sad sad faces. “How do you know they have found you?”

 

Therese sighed, more unpleasantness. “Do you know how my telephone always makes a buzzing noise before every communications?”

 

Carol nodded. “That thing is infuriating. I can't believe you didn't want me to buy you a new one that worked correctly.”

 

“Maybe I should have listened to you. But I wanted to keep it because it was a present from Red. Fuck, that's so bad.” She lay on the couch, her head on Carol's lap who immediately put her fingers in her hair. “Red is Stasi.”

 

“Stasi?”

 

“The East Germany secret police.”

 

Carol was so shocked she froze for a good minute. “I must call Abby.”

 

“Don't! I'm sorry she'll have to wait a bit, Red cannot know I know.”

 

Carol thumped her head against the back of the couch. She said nothing for a few minutes, then. “Well, if we are both fucked might as well go down with a bang. Don't you agree?” Her smile was back on. Resigned and grim but back on.

*

 

Florence was going to be the star of the final show. She had came back to class with a triumphant smile and had winked at Therese. She hadn't even looked in her direction after that because seeing her gloating like that was too hurtful. Carol was short and dry with her and that seemed to confuse Florence as if after she had quite literally threatened her, Carol was supposed to smile and welcome her back with biscuits.

 

She was to star in the show and she told everyone as much. Her parents, her father's important coworkers were invited and the audience was full of dance lovers but mostly ballet professionals looking for new recruits. Perfect for young ambitious dancers. And yet Therese had given up the idea.

 

“Florence?” She called out ten minutes before it all started.

 

Florence came over her, strutting and a permanent smug smile on her face. “Yes, Therese? You want to congratulate me for my upcoming success?”

 

“Break a leg.” Therese answered while smiling. She had learnt it was an expression they used and she loved it instantly. The ambiguity of it being clear and Florence's smile was falling notch by notch.

 

“Yeah well… You know what I'm happy we got to talk before I can go shine. You tried, you failed simple as that. You thought that fuckin' the teacher would get you the first role? You thought! Ah you think you're the first dyke to try that? Pathetic.”

 

Therese was fuming. “Oh really? Because Carol told me at the beginning of the year you tried that technique, that pathetic technique of seducing your teacher to get the solos. Weird, huh? You tried to be a dyke but you pathetically failed.”

 

Florence was sputtering and red in the face. “Shut up you fuckin' bitch! I am going on that stage and you're going to stay backstage. I call that losing.”

 

“That's what you think. Haven't you noticed anything about my clothes?” Therese did not let her answer and pushed her harshly: Florence had to sit down on one of the bench in the lockers. “Yes, I'm wearing the costume for the first role.” She smirked and then she ran and closed the door behind her. Carol had given her the keys, Therese left them nearby for later and Florence was realizing what was going on, thumping on the door like an animal. “That'll teach you some humility.” She only muttered to the door.

 

And Therese went to dance. There was a bit of buzz around the room when she appeared and not Florence like it had been announced but she didn't care and kept going. She danced like she had never danced before, feeling once again like she was the sacrifice but this time her end was so much more palpable and real and waiting for her. And yet it also meant the same realness for her renaissance. She could not help but cry, and she cried so much, without ever breaking character or changing her face or her steps. It all went hand in hand with the spectacle and the ballet and she let her heart absolutely open for everyone to see, everyone to gauge, everyone to appraise. Her movements were so different from the first time she had danced on that stage for her audition where everything she did was calculated. Here she just let her emotions push her. The other dancers were a bit surprised at her coming but in the end accepted her gratefully for they had rehearsed so much together. She cried and moved and danced and flew away in front of everybody. She felt like she was tearing off her skin, showing everything and the feeling was divine and dangerous.

 

The applause was deafening making the stage shake, Therese looked from her shaking feet to the audience one last time, trying to memorize each and every face. It was her dream, for as long as she could remember that was exactly what she wanted. It felt bittersweet though, not entirely what she had wanted. She was not in the New York ballet and probably never will be, she was not famous, not yet, she felt like a clandestine coming on the stage when someone else was expected.

 

She bowed down one last time before leaving the stage and taking Carol's hand and going to her car. Their bags were already in the trunk.

 

“Are you ready, my love?”

 

“I am, Carol. Let's go.”

 

If the world was so so contradictory to them it was fine. If neither Carol or Therese could stay in the NY ballet it was fine. They were going to create their own troupe and Therese knew their first protégées would be Czech and Polish and Russian and Romanian and so on. They would do good, she knew it, and they would be together, and they would dance together for the rest of their lives. She knew after their trip and period of recruitment they would come back to New York for it was Carol's city and Therese had made a blood pact with the big city that she could not betray. They would come back surely but for now they were going away holding hands. Her dream, her sacred dream that had become like a leitmotiv in Czechoslovakia and all her life. She still had it: she would become the best Czech dancer the world ever knew, she was just doing it in her own way.

 

For now they drove, well Carol drove, and Therese sat at the passenger seat a hand always on Carol. The first night they left, they stopped at this diner in the middle of nowhere, Therese ordered them food and Carol used the restaurant telephone to finally contact Abby. She didn't hear any of the conversation and didn't try to overhear anyway but after a while Carol crooked her fingers at her and told her to come. She took the telephone, unsure.

 

“Therese! I am so sorry! It's not what you think!” It was Red and she sounded desperate.

 

Therese glared at Carol who only shrugged. _Kurva_. “I don't want to talk to you, Stasi.” She added the last word with an icy tone that conveyed all her disgust.

 

“I'm so sorry, I didn't want any of that to happen, I swear!”

 

“Well it did happen! Deceiving me is one thing but what about Abby? Does she know she is a cover?”

 

Red sighed and Therese thought she heard her crying. “I hadn't planned to fall in love.”

 

Therese was so angry, so angry and she wanted to yell but there were customers. “Good for you! I hope you'll live happily destroying lives in your wake!”

 

“Therese! Don't you understand I am not working for them for pleasure? I hate them just as much as you hate them. Why do you think I am so far away from Germany and yet they still have me? I will be honest I joined willingly to fight the capitalist enemy but then I wanted to quit, I just wanted it to be over, I couldn't do it anymore… They didn't want and I don't know how they learnt I was… _different_. They used that against me! I have a little sister back in Germany and they threatened her. It was the only way they had because I was already in America.”

 

Therese was speechless and her legs felt like cotton. She sat on the floor and took the phone on her lap. “Why me?”

 

“Not you in particular, I was watching so many people at the same time. They put me at the theater because of all the foreign dancers and so many of them come from countries of the East. When I was charged to speak with you I noticed immediately.”

 

“You noticed what?”

 

“That you were like me. I tried to use that but when you rejected me I was so relieved...” Therese remembered her face. “They gave me the telephone. That was probably, what?The thirteenth I gave. I _Scheiße_ , I didn't want to do that anymore so I tried to take the recording before they got it. I destroyed it.”

 

Therese felt so relieved she had to close her eyes and breathe for a few minutes. “So you radically changed your life?”

 

“I did. But so did you.”

 

Therese looked at Carol who was drinking this bad coffee and who deserved places better than that. “I know. It's for the best.”

 

“What about the NY ballet?”

 

“I don't need that to tell me I dance well. I have Carol's eyes.”

 

They hung up and Therese did not think she could have ever forgiven Red but now everything had shifted and her heart was lighter. She was going to enjoy the journey. She knew that.

 

*

 

_6 years later._

 

“Carol! Where are my new ballet shoes?” Therese yelled while rummaging in their closet.

 

“I don't know, I didn't touch them!” Carol yelled back from the kitchen. “Have you checked Igor didn't take them?”

 

At that precise moment she saw from the corner of her eye a blur of brown and white. “Oh no no no! Come here, you mutt!” Therese ran and nearly fell down on the parquet floor while chasing that dog. She retrieved her ballet flats in his mouth, dripping with saliva, but otherwise un-chewed. But then she also saw her brand new sweatshirt in his basket, torn up, obviously.“That dog will kill me.”

 

“You love this stupid dog.” Carol came over and ruffled Igor's head whose tail waggled so hard his whole body moved with it. “And so do I. Good dog! That sweatshirt was horrendous.”

 

Therese raised her eyebrows. “Hum excuse me.”

 

“Please, it's fluorescent, it's just bad taste.”

 

“It's American fashion!” Therese said with her thickest accent. She didn't really like that sweatshirt anyway.

 

Carol kissed her on the cheek. “Anyway you know better, he likes to steal.”

 

“I know. I'm just stressed about this show.”

 

“What? The great Thereve Belivet, scared?”

 

Therese blushed and put her head in Carol's neck, smelling the familiar perfume. “Shut up.” She said fondly. One of her hands traveled on Carol's legs, just under her miniskirt. Now Carol wore short skirts and dress that showed her knees.

 

“Well if the great Therese Belivet orders me to shut up I will.”

 

“Oh come on, it was only one review.”

 

“Yes that one and about twenty five others. Stop being so modest.”

 

“Yeah, I am great and I am the best!” She joked but Carol smiled proudly and nodded. “Anyway have you got the plane tickets yet?”

 

“Yes, everything's ready. How does it feel to come back to New York?”

 

“I should ask you that, you're the real New Yorker.”

 

“I'm not attached to any city. Home is where you are, you should know by now.” Therese had to stop Carol for a kiss because even after all this time together she could not quite believe it was her life and Carol was hers. And Carol who was able to just spurt things like that just always swayed Therese like a hurricane.

 

“God you're sappy.” She retorted in the kiss to hide how it had shaken her.

 

“My Therese.” She only said.

 

They were touring with their troupe. New York had asked them and paid them like huge stars. Because that what they were. Everybody wanted them, and Therese was asked to perform in so many theaters, she had even wrote her own ballet with Carol. She had made it at her own pace. Irinushka, Lena, Renata, Majda, Wiktoria... had too.

 

No _they_ had made it and life was pretty good after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. I know there's a big gap where the road trip should be and some of you might be disappointed by that or by something else, how the story ended or else but in the end that is how I like it, this is how I wanted to write it.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kudos, kind comments and encouragements, I love all of you.


End file.
